About A Year Later, In My Imagination

You don’t have to go. It’s nice having you here; it reminds me of when we were best friends.

You want me to stay?

Do you want to stay?

Only if you want me to.

I don’t think I want you to go.

I don’t think I want to go either.

I don’t want to have sex, I just want to stay up talking like we used to. I think we were at our best when we’d lay awake doing nothing. That was when I’d get all my sniffs in.

You could sniff your spot again.

Yeah, it’s still my spot?

Of course it’s still your spot.

Mmmm.

Funny enough I’d find myself referring to it as that every time I touched my forehead or saw it in the mirror. I’d be moving my hair out of my eye and think, Peach’s spot, and if you were there you would’ve said “give me my spot,” and then I would’ve bent down and then you would’ve given it a sniff.

That’s true, I would’ve.

I liked that.

I know you did, even if you never outright said it. You really loved being baby, for someone so big and burly.

Hey now—

Don’t deny it! Do you remember that conversation we had, in your room one night in July, when I told you I’d figured out the answer to a question you’d asked me a few days before? You’d asked me why I talked like a baby around you, and that evening I realized it was because you made me feel little again.

I remember that.

Yeah, and then you said that you liked it when I talked like that; that it was weird at first but now you do it too—and it’s true, you used to talk to me like a baby all the time. At one point, you even referred to yourself as Big Fuzzy. You’d come back from the shower and chirp “fresh and clean,” all on your own.

Hah. Big Fuzzy. I did like it when you did that, it was our special thing.

Well, you were my special thing.

I know.

And then you were gone.

Yeah.

Not just you, but that whole world; that whole special little world of ours—a world that I worked so hard to build—poof. I blinked and it all disappeared. I lost it the way people lose things in a tsunami.

I know. I’m sorry.

I mean it’s fine now. We both have new worlds that we tend to. But that universe we lived in, I mean, I worked so hard on that thing, like, Minecraft Creative World hard, and without a single moment’s notice it was all swept out from under me. The safety of our bed, yours or mine, wherever it was that we slept, the comfort and security there, the dependability of that private place where it was warm and familiar and soothing, I put my whole heart into protecting that. The dinners with no phones, when we’d just talk about our days, eating a meal that I’d spent hours preparing as you worked, how before we sat down I’d go over to the couch and comb your hair back with my fingers and ask you if you wanted a snack while the chicken cooked; I gave energy I didn’t have to keep the sacredness of that. But then it was gone, and I had neither a clue nor the slightest say about it.

Yeah. The way it ended was tough. You were always too good, I never deserved any of that.

It didn’t matter then, what you deserved. I loved you; that was what mattered. That was why I did any of it.

I wanted to love you too, you know. I hope you know that.

What?

I wanted to love you too, but it was like I couldn’t let myself because it didn’t make sense to. I think somewhere inside I knew it wouldn’t work, or that it was dumb to even try, because it didn’t make any sense that we would ever be happy in the end. I sure as hell could never make you happy as you made me. You were never meant to love me that much, I never imagined you could; it didn't feel real, or the least bit sustainable, what we had, and it was my fault, or all in my head. I felt worse about it than I was willing to let myself acknowledge, how good you treated me and how obviously I felt that I’d never be that for you; and I dragged you along in that sadness of mine, and I shouldn’t have. I’m sorry.

You made me happier than I had ever been.

I’m so sorry.

You, in a torn tee shirt, with dried epoxy stuck to the sleeves and orange tikka masala sauce smeared across your chin and fingers, made me the happiest girl in the whole, wide world.

Ah, Tamber’s tikka masala. I know. You deserved to be the happiest girl in the world. You really care about people. More people should care like you.

I do what I can.

I wish I could do more.

There’s nothing left for you do, but that’s okay. My world turns for different reasons now. I’m sure yours does too.

Kind of, I don’t know.

It does, or it will. It’s not really important. And I still miss the old world sometimes; it’s a nice place to think about when I’m getting Tamber’s chicken or picking peaches at the grocery store.

Right. I think about the old world whenever I see Sour Smurfs at Streets, or I guess whenever I eat peaches too—though that’s kind of often so I try to think about something different.

Haha. You still owe me a bag of Smurfs…

Yeah, yeah. Do you want me to go get you a bag of Smurfs right now?

No…

That’s what I thought.

I want to keep doing this.

I wouldn't mind that.

Okay, then maybe we should sit. Or lay down. I don’t know.

Maybe we can sit in bed and then gradually lay down.

We would gradually lay down?

Yeah, gradually.

Okay, as long as it’s gradual.

Promise it will be the most gradually you’ve ever laid down.

You’re stupid.

I would call you stupid back but I told my therapist I wouldn’t call people rude things anymore.

Really? Well that sounds good.

This feels good.

It does feel good.

I missed feeling like this.

I did too.