The Best of Friends | ✔

one

The Best of Friends
Written by Indigo Ivy Salamander

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I will never get used to it, I hate it far beyond words can describe.

The continuous popping of the ears, the lightheadedness from both landing and descending, the general inability of being able to stand up and move, the over-excited smiles of the flight attendants, the mini mental breakdown from believing the plane will crash, the need to look out the window to see the clouds, the horrible waves of nausea and the actual act of throwing up.

All of it.

Yet, I went through it all this one time not for the obligatory annual visiting of family in Spain, but for a short visit to my old neighborhood down south; Florida, in my own terms, for the spring break. My good-natured nanny intended to accompany me, but it was a trip I wanted to do on my own. Besides, as a seventeen-year-old, I am more than capable of being independent, and in the worst-case scenario, she's only one call away from me. For as long as I reminded her of the aforementioned, I knew she would agree, and she did, in the end.

Even then── even though I did travel on my own, I knew I wouldn't truly be alone, considering the fact that I would be staying at my best friend's for the week.

We talked on the phone many times since I moved, but it never felt the same as being next to each other, in the flesh. Within the past year, actually, I started feeling some sort of distance from him; I felt something off in the way he spoke, in the tone of his voice, his laugh. It wasn't the type of distance where a friendship's dying, not at all, but rather the type of distance where there's clearly something wrong, something that's eating someone from the inside out.

Knowing Roger, it's not some petty or small matter. It's something big, something I may be afraid to hear, but for the sake of his own self I want to be there for him, even if I may not be the right person for the job, even if I have to physically be there to squeeze it out of him, because knowing Roger, he wouldn't dare to say a single thing on his own, preferring to bottle it all inside. It's essentially why I wanted to do this trip on my own.

I looked around the area for any possible sign of where I was or where the exit was at the very least, amongst the millions of people scurrying in all possible directions, finding nothing more but confusion.

Airports never fail to get me anxious.

After asking around for help and not receiving much, I followed what I believed to be the right way to the exit and felt reassured of making the right choice when I saw a myriad of vehicles parked outside through several glass walls.

There was no need to look around any further by the time I stepped out of the airport── there they were, leaning against their sleek hatchback, engaged in some casual talk. I waltzed over to them, practically beaming.

"My gods, it's Roger in the── " My words toppled over, unable to get themselves back up, shattering into tiny little pieces as they hit the ground. There he was, but was not. He didn't look the same, but there was an echo of the old Roger in his cheekbones, in his dense, kinky curls, in his remarkably perfect eyebrows, in his broad, well-defined nose, in his full, thick lips. Everything else was different, with his build being the most obvious; every muscle in his body decently stood out from days on end spent at the gym, in such a way where I could tell it was all natural. The most different of all were his eyes, however. They were in obvious agony, and he was holding it all back. I could easily see beyond his brittle front. His face spilled it all, too. It was pale in comparison to the cool dark skin below the sleeves of his tight v-neck and camo cargo shorts. Even in the way he stood, uncomfortably firm, screamed to me that he would break down with just the flick of a finger. Nevertheless, he still took my breath away, and I hated that fact. As swiftly as my mind could allow me, I gathered some of the broken words from the ground, jumbling them together with tape and glue in the hopes to get at least one out of my system. " ──it's Roger, gods... in the f-flesh!"

Fuck.

I want to dig myself into a hole and never come out of it.

A low-toned chuckle came out of him, doing its best to distract me from his pain. "Hey, Dan. Welcome back." Even his voice had changed; it was considerably deeper, more pleasant to hear. I noticed this over the phone and over the years, but certainly nothing beat hearing it in person. Oh, the irony! Such a pleasant, velvety voice, a great guy above anything else, and yet there he was, completely broken, as if he may snap at any given second and end it all.

Fuck, stop. Stop it, Daniel.

"Has anything changed here?" Florida, yes, such warmth, no cold weather, no snow, or the possibility of it. So very pleasant.

"Not really... well, except for a new record store down by Opera's Diner," Roger said, rubbing his goatee. Something new. Perfectly trimmed. Pleasant, so very pleasant. "I'll take you there sometime this week, they have some sick stuff. How's North Carolina going for you?"

"You know how," I mumbled. "It's... alright," but you're not there, and neither is she.

Roger's mother could no longer hold her excitement. Within the blink of an eye I was in her arms, gently rocked by her swaying. "It's so good to see you again, Daniel, and heavens, how you've grown, such a fine young man!" Finally, a perfect distraction.

"Thank you, Ms. Robinson," I began. "You don't look a day older, always stunning."

"Oh Daniel, always a charmer," Ms. Robinson giggled, letting me go and lightly slapping my shoulder. "Always chasing after me."

Roger played along, puckering his lips. "Hey you, stop flirting with my mama, or you're gonna have to deal with me."

Ms. Robinson gave me an over-exaggerated wink. "It's Eudora to you, baby boy."

"Nuh-uh, this ain't happening Dan, you perv."

"Who are you to call me that? It's step-daddy to you, not perv." Roger didn't know how to respond to that, so he stepped down, shaking his head with a mellow sneer. It didn't take long for the three of us to lose ourselves in a couple of laughs after that.

It was the perfect distraction indeed from having to eye the one guy I wished I didn't dig at all── I already couldn't handle liking others; it scared me that I find them just as attractive as girls, but this one I especially didn't want. Not him, not Roger. Not my best friend. Anyone but him.

Yet, I liked him the most and I knew it, somewhere deep within. I knew someplace within me wished for him. I have come across far too many red flags to not know. I've had countless dreams of his love and his touch and they've all excited me to no end. 

I liked him. There was no denying it. Even without those muscles. Or the goatee. Or his voice. Without having to see him in the flesh, I knew it, and I hated it.

It scared me.