We’ve been friends since elementary. We’ve seen each other at our highest and lowest points, at beginning and endings. We’ve both have had our share of love and hate. We’ve both have had the occasional misplaced feelings, quickly shelving those emotions once the words escaped our mouths. Today, after twenty years of friendship, we’ve decided to move in together. It was something we’ve always talked and joked about.
“Would you two get a room already?” Janis, one of my girl friends, often said. I know what she really meant, but for us to take it to this extreme is something else.
At first, it was like an extended sleep over. When we were younger, we would spend nights at each other’s house. When we got into high school, we stopped, embarrassed if our other friends knew. In college, it was whenever we felt like crashing at each other’s place. It was usually mine since all the good bars were in my area.
As time went on, living with him became awkward. Whenever we brought a date or fling, we gave each other strange looks. When I talked to Janis or Valerie, he would wonder what was up. To be honest, I had begun to close up to him. Despite how close we were, we had begun to drift.
I was making macaroni and cheese one night when he asked, “What the hell is going on.”
“The hell, man?” I almost spilled hot water on myself.
“The hell exactly,” he took the plastic spoon out of my hand. “Did I do something wrong?”
“No stupid, why you tripping?”
“I dunno, things just feel weird.”
The buzzer went off, breaking the silence between us. “You want some mac,” I asked, ignoring the elephant in the room.
“Nah, I’ll just get some take out.”
At the end of the week, he moved out.
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