The past few weeks have been pretty uneventful here in my world. There have been numerous phone calls from The Drunk Ass, still obsessing over why I don't want to date him (he doesn't quite understand that by NOT dating him, I am quite possibly sparing him the hell that others have not been lucky enough to avoid), a visit from Fish Head, a whole lot of giggling with D and Spliff and a call from my long-lost B. That sounds like a lot of stuff, I guess, but really the only thing that was completely out of the ordinary was the call from B.
He fell off the planet about two years ago after I had taken him out for a night of reggae and imported beer and I hadn't heard from him since. When my phone rang at 11, I wasn't sure that I would want to know who was on the other end and I hadn't seen a 912 area code in ages, but I took my chances. He is now more than six hours away, instead of the 2 that I had grown accustomed to and he seems to be doing really well and plans to come into town in a few months.
When I think about B, I usually just remember the last couple of times we saw each other which really isn't fair to anyone considering that we have known each other for ten years now and the last three times we have seen each other were really poor examples of how well we get along. Either that, or they were really good examples. The jury is still out. I should be remembering going to see really bad horror movies and playing on the beach, but instead, I seem to only remember making out with him and then feeling like I had just made a huge mistake. Don't get me wrong, making out with B wasn't really something I regret so much as it was something that I wish I could have done under different circumstances. It happened right about the time that I broke up with J and just weeks before Matt died. I was depressed and ridiculously confused about things and B...well...B came along and made me forget about all that for awhile.
It was pretty ill-advised considering that there was always this unspoken chemistry between us. Something that I tried hard to avoid and he let slip out from time to time (I believe this was his way of testing the waters to see if there was any point in jumping in). I never let it affect our friendship in any way. Even when he tried to kiss me in my driveway when he was 16. Instead of even letting myself react, I grabbed the polaroid camera out of his hand, plopped down on the cement and snapped a picture of him exhaling rings of smoke into the darkness. By saving that moment, I gave myself the permission not to think about what was actually happening. I diverted the attention to a photograph. A photograph that is now displayed in a book of memories just like that one.
The familiarity of B is soothing but strange and looking back, I guess it always has been. Being alone with him has always felt a little like that dream does. You know, the one where you go to the grocery store and realize that you have forgotten your clothes? You feel exposed. You feel...well...naked. He doesn't do it purposefully, and I can only imagine that he feels the same way about hanging out with me but just thinking about that feeling makes me a little apprehensive about starting this friendship where it left off.
Either way, I am excited that I will get to see him again and that he hasn't disappeared forever, but at the same time, when I think about seeing him again, after all this time, I can feel the thickness in the air that he brings with him when he comes.