(no subject)
Someday, But Not Today
Jon/Spencer
884 words
I think about you from time to time when my heart aches for the years that are long gone- the simpler years. Everything was so straight forward; we thought we had each other figured out so well. I could predict your next move; you always knew what I would say next. I guess we were just expected, but I would like to think that we knew each other just that well.
I was silly and foolish. I was so young, and you were not. You were mature. You had grown up problems like flipping your car on the highway and colleges. I couldn’t help but to worry about my hair or my grade in pre-calc. Two different stages in life; I would like to think they tore us right apart. I think, honestly, I think I was just completely tactless.
The thing that kept me by your side all those years was that you made me feel important. I had asked one time if you wanted to end our relationship, our friendship, one day and you had asked me if I was kidding. Sometime during our relationship, you told me I was pretty and you told me I was smart. That was all I was looking for.
You always told me so much and I found myself wondering for weeks after our big fallout if you had told me too much. Like anybody though, I couldn’t help but to keep my mouth closed when you pushed me over the edge. When you said I was childish and fake, that was it. I told your high-school-age girlfriend all you had admitted to me, like fooling around with that girl in that shitty dorm room or doing coke at that frat party. I hated knowing those facts, I didn’t even want to think about those things, but I knew it was the only way to get you really angry.
I don’t regret it. I don’t regret saying any of it at all. I only regret the nasty things I said to you and saying it all through an instant message. I had no balls, you didn’t either, and we resorted to attacking each other’s families and making threats. I was low, but you were even lower.
Years passed. Now I found myself thinking about you still. I found myself relating everything to you. I was told that you had transferred here, to my college out West, and I wanted to know how you were doing. I wanted to catch up, to gain everything we once had back. I hoped every day to pass you on the street. I hoped that we ended up in the same college classes; I hoped we ended up in the same grocery store. I kept a keen eye, but I constantly found myself scanning over unfamiliar faces.
What haunted me still were the nights we visited each other. The nights spent drinking in the backseat of your car and talking are the nights I remember best because I always felt so close to you. For once, you were all mine and your girlfriend wasn’t in the picture. The first night we drank in the backseat is the night I will always remember best because you had one hand on my leg and the other behind my head. I swear, I vowed to always keep you around right then. I don’t think I realized how difficult it would actually be to maintain a relationship with you.
Someone told me one day that you had a fiancée. I don’t know if I had ever been so crushed. The child in me wanted to find that fiancée of yours and tell her all, but I knew that would be resorting to my old, high school ways. I knew it would make you resent me even more.
One night, I thought I saw you at a party, but I lost you in the crowd of underage drinkers. To make up for it, I climbed in the backseat of my car with a few bottles of beer and rested my head on the worn cushion. I passed out. When I woke up, it was late morning and I was sweating from the early September heat.
In the library writing another dreaded paper, I caught you staring at me. I was surprised and stood to say hello, but your face looked a bit angry suddenly when our gazes met. I wanted to shrink back down in my seat. But then, you surprised me. You came strolling over, your face softened, and you stared awkwardly. I couldn’t help but say, “Jon, how are you?” It was cheesy and stupid, but I was nervous. Your eyebrows rose for a moment, and you pulled at the zipper of your hoodie. And then, you shook your head and you said, “I can’t handle seeing you around anymore.” Your mouth opened to say something, but then it closed. I gaped at you and that engagement ring on your finger. Unconsciously I rubbed at the finger where my engagement ring would be on one day. You noticed, sighed, and said to me ever so softly, “Spencer, some day we’ll sort shit out, but not today.”
You left me standing in the library wondering where I could find some alcohol, a backseat, and familiarity.
Jon/Spencer
884 words
I think about you from time to time when my heart aches for the years that are long gone- the simpler years. Everything was so straight forward; we thought we had each other figured out so well. I could predict your next move; you always knew what I would say next. I guess we were just expected, but I would like to think that we knew each other just that well.
I was silly and foolish. I was so young, and you were not. You were mature. You had grown up problems like flipping your car on the highway and colleges. I couldn’t help but to worry about my hair or my grade in pre-calc. Two different stages in life; I would like to think they tore us right apart. I think, honestly, I think I was just completely tactless.
The thing that kept me by your side all those years was that you made me feel important. I had asked one time if you wanted to end our relationship, our friendship, one day and you had asked me if I was kidding. Sometime during our relationship, you told me I was pretty and you told me I was smart. That was all I was looking for.
You always told me so much and I found myself wondering for weeks after our big fallout if you had told me too much. Like anybody though, I couldn’t help but to keep my mouth closed when you pushed me over the edge. When you said I was childish and fake, that was it. I told your high-school-age girlfriend all you had admitted to me, like fooling around with that girl in that shitty dorm room or doing coke at that frat party. I hated knowing those facts, I didn’t even want to think about those things, but I knew it was the only way to get you really angry.
I don’t regret it. I don’t regret saying any of it at all. I only regret the nasty things I said to you and saying it all through an instant message. I had no balls, you didn’t either, and we resorted to attacking each other’s families and making threats. I was low, but you were even lower.
Years passed. Now I found myself thinking about you still. I found myself relating everything to you. I was told that you had transferred here, to my college out West, and I wanted to know how you were doing. I wanted to catch up, to gain everything we once had back. I hoped every day to pass you on the street. I hoped that we ended up in the same college classes; I hoped we ended up in the same grocery store. I kept a keen eye, but I constantly found myself scanning over unfamiliar faces.
What haunted me still were the nights we visited each other. The nights spent drinking in the backseat of your car and talking are the nights I remember best because I always felt so close to you. For once, you were all mine and your girlfriend wasn’t in the picture. The first night we drank in the backseat is the night I will always remember best because you had one hand on my leg and the other behind my head. I swear, I vowed to always keep you around right then. I don’t think I realized how difficult it would actually be to maintain a relationship with you.
Someone told me one day that you had a fiancée. I don’t know if I had ever been so crushed. The child in me wanted to find that fiancée of yours and tell her all, but I knew that would be resorting to my old, high school ways. I knew it would make you resent me even more.
One night, I thought I saw you at a party, but I lost you in the crowd of underage drinkers. To make up for it, I climbed in the backseat of my car with a few bottles of beer and rested my head on the worn cushion. I passed out. When I woke up, it was late morning and I was sweating from the early September heat.
In the library writing another dreaded paper, I caught you staring at me. I was surprised and stood to say hello, but your face looked a bit angry suddenly when our gazes met. I wanted to shrink back down in my seat. But then, you surprised me. You came strolling over, your face softened, and you stared awkwardly. I couldn’t help but say, “Jon, how are you?” It was cheesy and stupid, but I was nervous. Your eyebrows rose for a moment, and you pulled at the zipper of your hoodie. And then, you shook your head and you said, “I can’t handle seeing you around anymore.” Your mouth opened to say something, but then it closed. I gaped at you and that engagement ring on your finger. Unconsciously I rubbed at the finger where my engagement ring would be on one day. You noticed, sighed, and said to me ever so softly, “Spencer, some day we’ll sort shit out, but not today.”
You left me standing in the library wondering where I could find some alcohol, a backseat, and familiarity.