I’m sorry I didn’t see that ‘til now.”
Chris finally looked at me. “Seventy five percent of what came out of your mouth just now is bullshit.”
My eyes got wide. What?! I was shocked, and my racing heart sped up like it was in the last lap of the Indy 500. I realized... this was the end of me and Chris. How was I going to make it without her? I felt tears coming as I thought of all the nights I’d been spending sobbing in bed. Could you dehydrate yourself from crying? I was about to get up and leave when Chris spoke again.
“You weren’t self- centered. You were shot. Recovery was all you needed to be thinking about. And I didn’t have anything going on in my life cuz I was taking care of you. I’d been stewing about J for weeks, but didn’t want to bring it up to you. I wasn’t sure how you felt, and I didn’t want to fuck up your progress towards recovery. And fuckin' Larry, yeah, you kinda owe me for that, but he kept you from falling into the funk I expected, so I put up with White Snake being around all the time.”
“You can tell me anything," I told her. "And I tell you everything. That’s us. That’s why I like us so much. That’s why I brought up my thoughts about J.”
“I know, but I’d been stewing long enough on the shit bag that I had worked myself up into a frenzy of hate. I imagined shanking him.”
I laughed. “Shanking? Why not just shoot him, or stab him with a knife?”
“Too many episodes of Lock Up.”
I laughed my super ugly, rarely heard, this shit’s truly funny laugh. It seemed fitting Chris would use a shank, and that made it hard for me to stop laughing. Once I gained control of myself, I saw Chris smiling too. I wasn’t a fan of Lock Up, but Chris was addicted to it. She lived for that shit, disturbed as it may be.
“I’ve had time to think, and I realized I was being the self-centered one,” Chris said, the smile melting off her face. “I get it that you can’t just turn off feelings. Despite the shit my mother did to me, or allowed to happen to me, I still have love for her. I ain’t trynna be her homie or nothin’, but that doesn’t mean I don’t care about her.”
“I know I should’ve spoken up,” Chris continued, “about J, I mean. I wasn’t sure where you were at with it, and I didn’t know if you could handle talking about him. So I treated you like glass.”
“You were just looking out for me.”
“And look where it got us.”
“Are we talking about our friendship or your house?” I motioned to the mess around us.
“Fuck you.” Chris threw an empty soda can at me. I dodged it, and it landed behind the sectional. “I mean ou r friendship. I should have known you could handle it.”
“So are we good? Cuz I really need my best friend right now.”
“No , we’re not good.” My heart dropped. “We’ll be good when you help me clean up my house. I’ve been having my own personal pity party, with a guest list of one, for the last week. I missed you too."
If her mess of a house reflected how much she missed me, then she's been just as tore up about our fight as I was. I wanted to cry, hug her, have a Spanish soap opera worthy make up scene with her, but we'd doe enough crying.
Instead, I stood up and tossed my purse in the cleanest spot I could find. “Let’s get crack-a-lackin’ then.”
It took us most of the afternoon to clean up her place. I found things I wish I could erase from my brain. Used Q-Tips littered the house, like she’d been cleaning her ears every five minutes and leaving the Q-Tip in whatever room she was occupying. When I asked her how she could clean her ears so much, she told me she used them to clean her belly button too. Ew, gross.
We finished cleani ng just as it was getting dark, both of us covered in a layer of sweat and grime.
“You need help showering? " Chris asked me. "Cuz you stink.”
“Not as bad as you, Pig-Pen.” Chris threw her dirty rag at me, which I also dodged and let
Chris finally looked at me. “Seventy five percent of what came out of your mouth just now is bullshit.”
My eyes got wide. What?! I was shocked, and my racing heart sped up like it was in the last lap of the Indy 500. I realized... this was the end of me and Chris. How was I going to make it without her? I felt tears coming as I thought of all the nights I’d been spending sobbing in bed. Could you dehydrate yourself from crying? I was about to get up and leave when Chris spoke again.
“You weren’t self- centered. You were shot. Recovery was all you needed to be thinking about. And I didn’t have anything going on in my life cuz I was taking care of you. I’d been stewing about J for weeks, but didn’t want to bring it up to you. I wasn’t sure how you felt, and I didn’t want to fuck up your progress towards recovery. And fuckin' Larry, yeah, you kinda owe me for that, but he kept you from falling into the funk I expected, so I put up with White Snake being around all the time.”
“You can tell me anything," I told her. "And I tell you everything. That’s us. That’s why I like us so much. That’s why I brought up my thoughts about J.”
“I know, but I’d been stewing long enough on the shit bag that I had worked myself up into a frenzy of hate. I imagined shanking him.”
I laughed. “Shanking? Why not just shoot him, or stab him with a knife?”
“Too many episodes of Lock Up.”
I laughed my super ugly, rarely heard, this shit’s truly funny laugh. It seemed fitting Chris would use a shank, and that made it hard for me to stop laughing. Once I gained control of myself, I saw Chris smiling too. I wasn’t a fan of Lock Up, but Chris was addicted to it. She lived for that shit, disturbed as it may be.
“I’ve had time to think, and I realized I was being the self-centered one,” Chris said, the smile melting off her face. “I get it that you can’t just turn off feelings. Despite the shit my mother did to me, or allowed to happen to me, I still have love for her. I ain’t trynna be her homie or nothin’, but that doesn’t mean I don’t care about her.”
“I know I should’ve spoken up,” Chris continued, “about J, I mean. I wasn’t sure where you were at with it, and I didn’t know if you could handle talking about him. So I treated you like glass.”
“You were just looking out for me.”
“And look where it got us.”
“Are we talking about our friendship or your house?” I motioned to the mess around us.
“Fuck you.” Chris threw an empty soda can at me. I dodged it, and it landed behind the sectional. “I mean ou r friendship. I should have known you could handle it.”
“So are we good? Cuz I really need my best friend right now.”
“No , we’re not good.” My heart dropped. “We’ll be good when you help me clean up my house. I’ve been having my own personal pity party, with a guest list of one, for the last week. I missed you too."
If her mess of a house reflected how much she missed me, then she's been just as tore up about our fight as I was. I wanted to cry, hug her, have a Spanish soap opera worthy make up scene with her, but we'd doe enough crying.
Instead, I stood up and tossed my purse in the cleanest spot I could find. “Let’s get crack-a-lackin’ then.”
It took us most of the afternoon to clean up her place. I found things I wish I could erase from my brain. Used Q-Tips littered the house, like she’d been cleaning her ears every five minutes and leaving the Q-Tip in whatever room she was occupying. When I asked her how she could clean her ears so much, she told me she used them to clean her belly button too. Ew, gross.
We finished cleani ng just as it was getting dark, both of us covered in a layer of sweat and grime.
“You need help showering? " Chris asked me. "Cuz you stink.”
“Not as bad as you, Pig-Pen.” Chris threw her dirty rag at me, which I also dodged and let
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