He was wearing a fishing hat hunched over the steering wheel concentrating really hard on driving. He looked like someone’s grandfather. Cute and harmless and full of “When I Was Young” stories. He made me smile and I let out a slight chuckle to myself.
And the first thing I wanted to do was call…HIM. No, not God. I wanted to call the boy who stole my heart and never gave it back. HIM. My best friend.
It’s been four months since we’ve last spoken at my insistence. The past couple days, and I blame this on my menstrual cycle, I’ve desperately missed my best friend. The person who I’d called whenever I had moments as small and random as seeing an old man in a fishing hat drive really slowly and knew that he would listen with intent even if it was just to humor me.
After I got out of my first Book Shop class and I was overwhelmed and excited with taking the steps to steer my career in a new direction, I wanted to call him and tell him all about my first ad concept for the Tide-To-Go Stick. My ad sucked and it was lame but he would have told me unconvincingly that it was good. Then I would call him a liar. And he would reluctantly agree that it was bad but it had the right idea. He never dashed on my dreams. And knew when to call me out whenever I went too far on my exaggerations. Then we would laugh about it.
I didn’t have his number in my phone anymore. I deleted it in the whole process to try to get over him and quell any desirous weak moments to call the whole healing time apart thing off.
I think I have healed.
But, I miss my best friend.