So, I should probably offer up a little background, just so you understand the gravity of the situation or whatever. Spot Conlon and I have been friends forever. Okay, so I've established that. I don't mean to beat it into the ground but it's pretty fucking important. I mean, if I was to be totally, one hundred percent honest, I'd have to admit that our relationship is the most important thing in my life. We've seen each other through everything. Divorce, death, hatred and all life's other little pleasantries. And the good stuff, too. Baseball games and keg parties and camp outs. We drank our first beers together, smoked our first cigarettes. And we somehow managed to circumnavigate the High School hierarchies.
You see, Spot's popular and I'm, well, not exactly. So he's got the in crowd knocking down his door. And he's cool with them, but when it comes down to it, he'd rather hang out with me and the rest of our boys. But still, he's always been a little bit better, ya know? I mean, he drives girls crazy. I don't know a one who isn't infatuated with him. But he doesn't really date. I mean he's never had a girlfriend. I mean like a real, committed, serious girlfriend. I mean, sure he fools around and what not. Some people consider him a player, others just think he's stuck up. But I know the truth and the truth is that he really doesn't give a shit about that stuff. We've had deep conversations (usually after too much booze or two many bong hits) where he's looked me in the eyes and said, "I just don't think I'm a relationship kind of guy, ya know? I think there's just something wrong with me?" And it's moments like these when I could see the worried confusion behind his strong, blue eyes and I could feel the power of our friendship, the way that when one of us was hurting, the other was too, without even knowing exactly why.
I don't mean to sound pathetic or anything, but his life was my life, in a way. So when he left me on my own this summer, I felt like, like I'd lost an arm or something. I felt lost and adrift and unsure what to do with myself. And now that he's back, I can feel myself wanting to latch back on, for things to go back to the way they were. But I have this sinking sensation that they just can't, and I'm not sure why.
We meet at Skittery's truck to drive out for off-campus lunch. I'm surprised and comforted to see Spot standing there, laughing about something with Snitch and Bumlets. Just like always. But for some reason, as we sit eating at our Mexican place, I feel oddly disconnected. Everyone's joking and talking over each other about school and summer and everything, but I just can't get myself to join in. Spot keeps shooting me furtive glances out of the corner of his eye and I want to join in, for everything to go back to normal. But the more I want it, the more distanced I feel and the less I have to say.
Walking back to class, Spot sort of follows me, even though he's headed to Gym and I'm going to Math, complete opposite directions. He's walking next to me in silence and I think we both feel good. We feel that comfort of having your best friend beside you for a few more steps. Then he looks at me, critically, like I'm some problem he just can't solve. "Yous okay?" He asks. Of course he slips into our dialect, living in New York we both have accents, but they're always stronger when we're together, when we don't have to worry about propriety and what not.
I shrug. "Yeah." I respond. I'm shutting him out. He knows it. And he's pissed. I should know better. You don't shut out Spot Conlon. Spot's the kind of guy who likes to run straight into conflict, eyes closed and head first.
He cuts me off and stands in front of me. He's giving me his old pissed-off glare. What right does he have to be mad at me? "What's the deal, Race, huh?" He asks. Ohh, tough guy.
I should explain one thing. I have a mouth, and I don't exactly avoid confrontation either. God, what a pair we make. "Jesus Conlon! What the fuck's your problem? You think you can just drop in and out of peoples life at your leisure? If you wanna go off and lead your own fucking life, that's fine. Just don't expect people to sit around and wait for you. Don't act like you didn't do nothing, you selfish fucking bastard! You want me out of you're life? Fine. I'm out," I storm off and leave him speechless. And it feels good, for about five minutes.