Have you ever met someone that's become a part of your routine?
I, for one, have always considered myself a loner. Okay, maybe not a loner because I keep my friends within an arm's reach. Maybe an arm and a foot? Not close enough, but not too far either. Back in high school, I was "nice guy Al" and got along with pretty much anyone. But if you ask me if I ever had a best friend, I'd say no. And that's okay. I like hanging out with my friends, but I prefer my own company. Sure I'd go out every week but please no more than that. My social battery drains faster than a three-year-old iPhone, and that says a lot. I just prefer to stay home, holed up in my room, in a comfy bed, reading light novels. There is just so much to read and barely any time. I could read the entire month and still won't be satisfied. If you're an avid reader, you know what I'm talking about. But back to the main point. I am a floater. No one really knows who I am. And that's okay.
Three years later, in university, I met someone—my guy Reid. I don't really know how we became friends because I attacked his literary taste, but we hit it off really quickly because he's a fellow closet weab. Imagine this, and It's Psy 200. I sat at the back of the classroom, and this kid sits in front of me, grabs his laptop, plugs his AirPods on then watches Shokugeki No Soma. I was offended by his shit taste in anime. We're closet weabs because we don't fit the nerd category and if anything, we fit the "popular" kid trope. I like to think I'm pretty good-looking. My mother says so herself. And Reid, when he doesn't talk, he's pretty attractive too. A couple of years passed, and Reid became a constant in my life. For the first time in my life, I had a best friend. He's my go-to when anything happens, from hey look at this loudass bird out my window to shit I'm failing a class, he's my go-to. One time I got stuck on the train because I was at the last station, and it was off service, but I had to go back because I dropped my hat only to find out that I got locked in the train cart. Boy, did I panic. The first thing I did was call Reid and told him I'm locked in the train. Since we're both 19-year-old idiots, he panicked with me until I got out. I like to think the friendship was mutual too. When Reid was on a bad date, I called him and pretended to be his angry side ho so he can dip. I talk to him every day, we transit to school together because our schedules practically the same, and we hang out every week. He was also always almost over at my house, and my mom thinks of him as her own. He only slept over once, though, when he was having a bad time and needed someone. For two years, he's the closest person I've ever known and has known me. It was good times. It was a feeling I've long forgotten, you know. That feeling when someone knows you to the very core, it's a terrifying thing—letting another person see you in your happiest and your most vulnerable. I don't know how people do that all the time. It's a first for me. I told Reid about this on that one bad night, so he knew I was glad to be his friend. And the ass he just called me a dumbass and told me to stop overthinking. I laughed because he's right—no need to overthink.
But then he left. Life happened, and he's just not here anymore. He's not dead; we just drifted when he left. I never really knew why he left or where he'd gone. It was a day of not texting; then it became weeks, then months and then years. The changes were gradual, and I didn't really mind it at first, I guess. Thank god I was busy. If not, I would've taken it harder. It didn't really hit me until one day, I saw some stupid meme on my phone, and I realize I can't even send it to him anymore. Sometimes I get confused and wonder if those two years really did happen.
Because of the pandemic, I don't go out anymore. Being at home is such a gift and a curse sometimes. I love being at home, but I hate being stuck in my head. I keep reminiscing. Reid was a part of my life until he wasn't. What he's left behind leaves me empty. I often think of him and wonder if I was as important as he was to me then. Because if I were, then maybe he would've told me why he left. Probably not then. And it's not really okay.
