you know those stories where you just know the person writing them is drunk?
yeah, this is one of those.
--
"Oh my god, I'm gonna miss you," I'm whining, leaning my head against Carly's shoulder in an incredibly uncharacteristic display of affection. And yeah, it's unlike me to act like I give a fuck about anybody or anything, but when it comes to Carly, most things are unlike me. She's my best friend. She's my everything.
I don't even know how to explain what she is. She just.. is. She's my best friend. It's one of those friendships where we're both gay and anybody with two eyes and any understanding of normal human behavior would think, or realize, or just think actually, that we're in love with each other or we're dating or something. We're not, but I kind of wish we were sometimes. And then I don't, and then I do again, but the whole thing is just incredibly frustrating and I decide to just stop thinking and stuff my face with ham or chug some vodka, and then I don't have to think anymore.
Thankfully, this isn't one of those chugging vodka or stuffing my face moments. This is just one of those acting like a normal human being with feelings who cares about somebody and who's going to miss her best friend when she leaves for pretty much the entire summer moments.
I'm still leaning against her shoulder, and she smiles a bit and plays with my hair, her fingers twisted around my curls.
"It's not like you're never going to see me again you know,"
"It's the whole summer," I whine, hugging her and keeping my head on her.
"It's not the end of the worl--"
"YES IT IS."
She looks at me for a moment like she's scared of me, and then we burst out laughing at the same time, the way that only best friends do. It's just the 'we're best friends and there's nothing you can do about it, so get over it' kind of thing. It just is.
And then she's got her hand in my hair again, and normally I'd act like I minded, even though I honestly don't at all, but this isn't me normally and she's leaving for the whole freaking summer, for god's sake.
What the hell am I supposed to do with myself for the next seven weeks?
I'm making some sort of weird whiny noise that must be Sam speak for, "Don't gooooo," and yes, all the extra o's are necessary, and I've got my arms around her shoulders again.
"Don't leave me,"
"I'm not leaving you," She says, poking my nose. I don't know, she just does that sometimes, okay? I think it's kinda cute, personally.
I'm leaning over and kissing her cheek. I don't know why, it just seemed like a good idea. Things like this always seem like a good idea when you're not going to be seeing somebody you happen to be fairly fond of for the next seven friggin weeks, and in Sam time, that's like waiting around for her until I'm 50.
But she just smiles and sits there and blushes, and I'm doing the same thing when she kisses my cheek back and then sits with her legs crossed and her head pointedly looking completely the opposite way.
Carly Shay, you are absolutely adorable. I'm gonna miss you.