So last night I took off at ten o’clock to go hang out with my childhood pals. My grandparents looked at me like I was a lunatic for leaving the house to go somewhere at ten o’clock at night. This startled me slightly since they have known me since I was born and should know very well that not even the late hands of time would prevent me from going to this reunion. I drove to a bar thing that I wasn’t aware existed until an hour previously and hopped out of my car. Paul, one of my best friends since I was six, who I haven’t seen in forever was waiting outside and I was utterly stunned by his attractiveness level. Paul and I attempted a romance once when we were eight and I even let him hold my hand in a bunk bed. It lasted for three days, before he let me know he thought we should only be friends. I let him know I didn’t want to be his girlfriend anyway. There wasn’t much time for hurt feelings. Our moms were great friends and we spent a great deal of childhood together. Playing king of the mountain on hay, making fish stick picnics, terrorizing our sisters, mastering trampoline tricks and video games, getting yelled at by our moms for our shenanigans, playing board games, wrestling, reciting spelling words, comparing scabs, swimming, discussing our emotions, and my favorite, practicing our karate on Brison Higgins. His sister and I got along well too but considering I was a boy until I was fifteen and she was nowhere near a boy, our bonding opportunities were limited. So I saw Paul standing there and was amazed that he had morphed into a hot dude but I know for a fact that I am not his type. I took our hug as an opportunity to feel his abs and let him know I liked his thighs. We went in and I saw some other childhood friends and was thrilled. Playing catch up was a blast. We remembered the time I had written a ridiculous song about a person being killed by a fly and sang it in tune with “My Heart Will Go On.” Paul and I recalled the time we had gotten into an incredibly intense game of tennis. Not real tennis; where we hold each other’s hands in a half hand shake type thing and the players take turns slapping their opponents hand as hard as they can before someone lets go. Not only are we apparently not concerned with pain during competition, our friends were watching and it was now a huge thing. This went on for a while. The end result was severely swollen hands that ended up bruising terribly. I believe we were forced to forfeit when a teacher discovered what we were up to; I don’t really remember. I know we were on some sort of band trip adventure. And I know I didn’t lose.
Anyway, Paul wasn’t the only person there who I knew. I knew quite a few and had a blast going down memory lane and hearing what they were up to. After making enough inappropriate comments to determine what these people’s comfort ability level was since I hadn’t seen them in forever, I decided I still liked them. I turned to Chris, or apparently now, Coston, and revealed to him that I had the most massive crush on him in the seventh grade and my friends and I came up with a code word for him so no one else, most importantly him, would know when we talked about him. As a thirteen year old still angry about the fact that I was growing boobs, I had the sexual appeal of a male hyena. I would lurk into band class and flirt with him by showing him the noises my arm pits could make and my kewl beat boxing skillz. After being told this was not the way to go by my friends, I became incredibly shy, totally unaware as to whether or not he thought I was a raging freakshow. One night coming home from some band thing, he and I sat at the very front of the bus, side by side. We ended up cuddling and he put his thirteen year old hand on my chest, above my thirteen year old boobs, and I didn’t say a single word, wondering if we were incredibly close to a sexual encounter. I wondered what I should do if he tried to kiss me. I had never allowed a boy to kiss me other than the time Brison Higgins kissed me on the lips when I was six and I punched him in the face and then felt awful and told him he could kiss me again if he wanted to. When I let him, I found the act repulsive. At thirteen, the idea of smooching the very first boy who had ever stimulated my raging hormones was terrifying. I was also struggling with the fact that I might be in the process of sinning because back then, I considered myself a superb religious teen. He told me I was good in volleyball but didn’t kiss me or do anything else sexual. Such a gentleman. As he and I and my friends discussed old and new stuff, I looked across the table at him and considered what would have happened if I had ended up married to my thirteen year old Fabio like I swore to my friends I would. Considering he appears to be a mature, functioning adult and I have the social skills of a rabid moose and the maturity of an eight year old boy, I do not see such a thing working out. I also remember what a terror he was as a child, though he denies his heathenism, and he and I creating an actual human being together would no doubt result in a criminal. After a couple of hours of more responsibility in a bar than I have ever shown, I hugged everyone goodbye and left. When I got home, I saw three children crashed out on the blow up bed in the living room. Upon inspection, I discovered that one of those children was mine and two of them were related to me. I went to bed (or couch) and sent Matt a text message letting him know I was highly suspicious that my affection for him grew stronger the longer we’re together. I missed him and felt really sad to be away from him at night. I let him know that. I fell asleep, thinking I might actually cry from missing him and woke up around three in the morning, covered in junebugs. They were on my face and there were a few in my hair and arms. I jumped up and flicked them off, totally disgusted that I was apparently camping though I made no such plans. I saw some other types of bugs flying around and lied down, horrified of possible bug consumption during my slumber. I shot Paul a text message informing him of my situation and tried to go back to sleep. I couldn’t. I kept having to flick junebugs off my body and was afraid they would get on me without me knowing about it. I ended up passing out and woke up with no signs of being assaulted by insects. Last night was a fantastic night and I’m happy I attended. There is something special about catching up with childhood friends as an adult. Children aren’t smart enough to know to lie to people about themselves yet, so childhood friends know a part of you that other people you meet in adulthood never get to meet. They know your heart before it becomes cynical and your brain before it becomes responsible. Childhood friends know a part of you that you might not even remember being a part of you, a part of you that no one will ever meet again and I think that is honestly, extremely awesome.
No comments:
Post a Comment