Stories by Ben

Published by Stories by Ben.

I am who I am because of you. No – I really mean it. For the longest time, I thought you’d done me wrong, but now all I can say is thank you. Do you remember how it all went down? I’m pretty sure it was junior year because you’d just moved in with Caroline down on Lafayette across from the janky Subway. Their sandwiches always tasted a bit like tuna. It was so gross, but I’m pretty sure we ate there at least three times a week. Sometimes that’s all we’d have — those days we’d wake up and decide that the couch and the TV needed us more than the world did. Breakfast, lunch and dinner.

Those are some of my favorite memories, even still. It felt like nothing could possibly matter more or less than the little world we created tucked away in your apartment. Anyways. It’s crazy to think that all that was thirty years ago. Who would have thought life could fly by so fast?

Doesn’t mean I don’t remember it all like yesterday. Sorry, it’s cliche but true. I’d just come back from two weeks with my folks and you’d clearly been enjoying your time without me. You made a show of love the first two days, then it melted away and I could tell you were tired of having me around. You’d enjoyed a schedule completely your own. I get that now. I didn’t then. Sorry about that.

I’d come back and was ready for a weekend inside. You know, our usual. A weekend of janky Subway, a couple bottles of Two Buck Chuck and a Miyazaki marathon. You wanted something different. You said it was too nice out and you’d made plans with Caroline and her boyfriend already. You paused where you normally would have told me I was welcome to come. I don’t think you’d ever not wanted to invite me somewhere before — but what do I know. It hurt to know that you’d rather be a third wheel than be with me, but I didn’t push. I felt justified creating resentment and holding onto it to cash in later.

So I said okay, that’s fine and you got mad at me for not pushing. You got angry and raised your voice. And that’s when you said it. You said I just wish you’d decide to actually be somebody. You didn’t apologize but I could tell you were not sorry but sorry. It was in the way you stepped back, crossed your arms and bit your lip looking down at your shoes. You wore nothing but Toms back then. I haven’t seen a pair of Toms in a decade. I wonder if they’re still around. Probably not.

Sorry. Where was I? Oh – right. It still eats at me, those words and the way you said them. I just wish you’d decide to actually be somebody. What a line. You didn’t even flinch until after you saw how much it hurt me. Looking back, the thing that sucks the most is that you were right. You were so god damned right. I’d let myself get stuck and was trying to keep you stuck there with me. You were spot on.

I apologized like I always did and went home for a weekend by myself. Pathetic. I hoped you would call, text, drop by, or just…anything. But you didn’t, obviously. Why should you have? I was too busy with self pity to understand that back then.

I spent the whole weekend barricaded in my apartment. I didn’t have janky Subway and I didn’t drink wine. It was nothing but pizza, cheap gin and a few pre-rolls. I know it’s a bad look, but that’s what I did. My head was split well into Wednesday — one of the worst hangovers of my life. Although, that was nothing compared to what I was about to experience. There’s nothing quite like your first real heartbreak.

Did you know that I went over to your apartment the following weekend? I didn’t see your car out front but knocked anyways. Caroline answered. She said you were off getting groceries. I asked her to let you know I’d been around. Two days later you finally text me back saying we need to talk. I’ll never forget preparing myself for what I thought heartbreak would feel like. And then, when we met up for coffee that Saturday, you came clean that you’d been back home to see Chris. I knew immediately what was going to follow, but I played dumb and made you walk innocent me through everything. Fuck me, right?

You were a champ and you told me. You didn’t flinch when you said you’d gone back home to fuck him. And then I made a show of my pain. I made you tell me that you didn’t use a condom and that you’d enjoyed it and I made you watch me feel betrayed. I mean, I was betrayed, but I was betraying you too. I was a shitty version of myself and I’d helped you become something shitty too. And then we were done.

That’s why all I can do now is thank you. I was hurt and angry and embarrassed enough that I had to do something about it, you know? I got involved. I got my grades back up and joined club soccer and met a few people and dated around and found friends and then I graduated and moved on with my life.

I don’t even want to consider what our lives would be if you hadn’t ripped the bandaid off like that. And no — I suppose you did cheat and that’s never the right thing to do — but it also maybe saved our lives from being one big sticky sad trap.

So, thank you. I’m glad you’re doing well. And it’s good to see who you’ve become. What’s new with you?