by Croft, Rose
“No.” I looked away, ashamed, fingering the ridges on the ball. “I can’t. This time you need to stay out of this, please.” We gazed at each other in silent understanding. Finally, I forced my lips into a smile and slammed the ball to his chest, changing the subject. “What are your plans? You still planning on working and taking classes at NCTC?” That was the community college closest to us. Mike also worked as a pizza delivery driver.
“Change of plans.” He palmed the ball, extending his arm straight; his eyes were focused on the ball as he twisted it around, studying it like it was a magic eight ball. “I think I’m going to travel up north, like Wyoming, see Yellowstone National Park or travel to the northwest, maybe visit Oregon or Washington.”
“You’re going to travel the countryside? How can you afford it?”
He chuckled as he glanced at my wide eyes. “Dave gave me some money for graduation and told me to go off and travel.” Dave was his stepfather, a doctor who specialized in pain management, I think, but Mike had told me in the past he snorted more coke than Johnny Depp in Blow when he was binging. Apparently, he was on a cocaine hiatus now because Mike also said his stepfather was a great guy when he wasn’t using. His mother and Dave had divorced three years before, but Mike still kept in touch with him.
“Okay. Then what?”
“Probably find a job somewhere along the way. I don’t know. All I know is I can’t stay here anymore.” He pounded the ball on the concrete as if he were trying to eradicate his problems. Boy, did Mike have problems. His mother, Loretta, was dating some jerk named Jack who was a deadbeat cokehead who couldn’t hold down a job. So, he mooched off of her, living with her while they both did drugs. Jack also had a bad temper when he was high, and Mike and he had gotten into some heated altercations a few times. To make matters worse, a month before, Mike’s dad Phil had been busted, again, for dealing in the back parking lot of the restaurant where he worked and was back in jail.
“I’m sorry, Mike. You deserve so much better.”
“Thanks, Loren.”
“So, you’re just going to take off and embark on a new adventure.”
“Yeah, I’m super stoked. It’s a fresh start, you know?”
I nodded, feeling admiration for someone who was gutsy enough to leave behind everything familiar and try to make it on his own. I would never think to do something like that or have the courage to do it. Yes, I was going off to college, but that was what was expected of me.
“When do you leave?”
“In two days.” He held the ball out to me. “In fact, I probably need to get going so I can pack.”
I grabbed the ball, cradling it against my hip. “You better keep in touch with me.”
“I will.”
In the following months, I’d received a couple of calls—short conversations, just checking in with me—and letters from him giving descriptions of the places he’d been. He had even included a few photos of himself with some of the people he’d met along the way. Then, the calls and letters stopped coming, and I never heard from him again. I’d tried to look him up on social media but never found anything.
I wiped my face free of tears while taking a few calming breaths and searched for information on the funeral. Does Andrew know about this? He…was my other best friend. He was more than my best friend. Who was I kidding? He was my world, and we had been inseparable.
Although I hadn’t spoken to him since the end of our senior year, I still thought about Andrew over the years, some might say obsessively. He was the first person who’d praised me about my writing, and there was little that we didn’t share with each other.
I loved him.
He loved me.
My parents hated him and banned me from seeing him again.
I allowed it and didn’t fight for us.
Sounded like some over-the-top teenage drama, right? Maybe it was, but to me it was real. The hurt was real.
As time passed, I thought I would eventually move on, and my heart would heal. It didn’t.
He’d most likely moved on nicely. I knew he had because he was a successful screenwriter with several indie films to his name and was gaining more critical acclaim with each piece he wrote. He probably lived in L.A. in a place like Laurel Canyon, like a rock star, while I made barely over minimum wage as a copy editor—and I use that term loosely because the tax books I edited were basically rereleased every year with tax-law changes that were usually minimal. So, the job didn’t require much thought or rewriting. I was definitely not changing the world with my words as I thought I would. Andrew was, and it wasn’t surprising. He’d been crazy talented in high school—the most creative person I’d ever known.
And, yeah, I cyberstalked him. I followed his Facebook page, but it was only a public page that promoted his work, where fans gathered and praised his movies. It was the same on Twitter and Instagram. He probably had a publicist or someone else handling his social media accounts anyway.
I even considered posting a message on one of his social media accounts, but what would I say? Hey, remember me? Loren from back in the day. Do you think about me? I think about you. Remember you told me you loved me? Oh, btw, love your films. Yeah, that would go over really well, Loren, you delusional stalker.
I shook my head and ran my hand over my face as the stark reality pounded me on my chest. Mike was dead. Fucking Mike was dead. And, I hadn’t seen him in years. And, I still missed Andrew. Too much. Much too much.