One of us is always in the middle of a bad choice.
Brendan is soft-spoken, sweet, shy. He only looks imposing, six and a half feet tall, heavy metal long hair, an on-and-off again drug habit. We’ve known each other so long that neither of us remembers quite how we met, but we’ve never managed more than a few clandestine kisses in all these years.
It’s like trying to fit the pieces from two different puzzles together. I’m engaged, alone, losing my shit, pulling it together. I need space, air, time. He stops drinking, starts meth, gets a job, fired, in jail, here and gone again. He moves to Colorado in the middle of the night. It’s never the right time.
After another long absence, Brendan materializes one day. I’m sitting at my friend’s kitchen table, and there he is, filling the doorway. He’s put back on all the pre-meth weight, acquired more tattoos, a goatee. We hug, he blushes, our hands tangling under the table as everyone catches up. We’re both single. He invites me to his new place, within walking distance of a yet another new factory job. Continue reading