Michael: Lulu, I'm sorry.
Michael: Don't ask me to explain it, just know that I am sorry.
Received @1:18 am
I guess I'm not even going to ask.
I haven't talked to Mike since last fall, when I sent him a text message on the long drive home from Toronto. Of course, text would not convey how sobbing tears blurred the midnight traffic while the night weighed down empty and endless. Why was I crying?
Me: Its a shame that our friendship is ruined.
Me: I could really use a kindred spirit right about now.
Michael: It's not ruined.
Michael: You know you can always talk to me.
Me: But I won't. We won't. I'm just sorry, that's all.
We went to high school together but weren't friends until college. His apartment was near the highway and we used to stay up all night on Flaming Dr. Pepper shots and Metallica. A pyramid of Keystone cans displayed on the end table near the front door. Rooms littered with computer parts and guitars. My best friend Jennie was secretly in love with him, but I was the one who slept with him years ago - the night after he broke up with his girlfriend. Jennie never found out.
I wonder sometimes if he didn't just stay suspended there, not knowing how to forget.