We had this thing, she and I, where we pretended we were being interviewed. Usually, she would just start firing off these random questions: um, who was your first crush? (On those rare moments when she was insecure). On those days back in high school when you’ve felt you couldn’t go on, how did you push through? (On those rare moments when I was secure). Tell me about your new play? (When she believed in our dreams). What is your opinion on the Iran-Contra deal? (When we had a history test). Love and Beauty walk into a bar and bet they could get the next guy that walks in. Who wins? (When she was brilliant). How could you sit idly by while (insert the company of the product I happen to be consuming) is claiming its next victim? (All. Other. Times! Laughs).
So, the game would go something like this. One of us would ask the other questions about subjects they happened to be consumed with at the time, posing as if we were working for E! News or Vanity Fair. The other would have to pretend to be their future self-- famous, loved and adored by millions of people-- and answer their fans’ burning questions as honestly as possible. Retrospection was the key to this game because talking about our current crises as though we’ve already survived them, somehow, usually meant we wound up discovering more about our highest selves. Which was ultimately the goal. We would start off with every intention of answering just the question at hand but would always go off on a tangent or ten in the process in order to clarify the details we think the interviewer needed to hear and, irrevocably, to let slip some of the details we didn’t want the interviewer to know as well. Almost like verbal free association.
She came up with this after the awakening. She said it was in preparation for our future, but I knew better. I mean, most celebrity interviews are either pre-taped or the questions are known by the interviewee beforehand, right? Plus, I am sure celebs lie for laughter and adoration too. I know she invented it to keep me honest about my feelings because she only really played this game when I was asking the questions or when she knew something was wrong with me that I was not telling her. I could never tell her that I secretly used it when she wasn’t around. I guess as a way of keeping myself honest about the realities of our relationship and getting those things off my chest. Things that I surely couldn’t discuss with anyone else. Not even with her, my best friend.
And I struggled a ton because, seriously, how good of friends could we have been, if I couldn’t even tell her all that I felt? And it did make me emphatically question the nature of my obsession with her. Was I in it for the wrong reasons? Did time inherently create this adherent to substance, which in return, reinforced the notion of time? Wait! I am confusing myself. In other words, was I her friend because she had known me for ten years, thus constructing this illusion that we were best friends which was only sustained because of the length of time she had known me?
I would usually get pissed off around this point and try to remember why I found myself questioning everything in the first place. But to understand that, you really should understand her. And for those of you who have not yet met anyone that fits the description of the girl I am about to describe, then I pity you, because they are truly exotic. And for those of you who’ve already opted to befriend such a rare and wonderful creature and are now suffering in silence like me, well I don’t pity you as much. The hypothetical glass is, of course, half-empty as well. And for the rare few of you who know of one you admire from afar and can’t quite decide what to do, then I will give you a small piece of advice: run. Towards or away from them, it’s your decision. Just don’t walk to get there.
So, to describe her, I guess it’s like when you meet that person you could stare at for over a decade and you still wouldn’t have gotten your fill. Or like looking into the ocean because it’s so completely humbling, or like facing death because it’s so absolute.
I am talking about the pretty people. Well, not really because pretty people know they are pretty which, frankly, makes them unlikeable. I guess who I am referring to then are the beautiful people. Well, probably not them either because beautiful people always say they used to be an ugly duckling, which kind of makes them unbelievable. What I mean to say are the gorgeous ones. Yeah. Gorgeous and ones, since there aren’t that many of them out there. You know the ones who just have no clue at all, like aliens who roam the earth but don’t realize they’re aliens. I mean maybe, subconsciously, they grasp that they are a little different, but you never hear them capitalizing on their cognizance. Even though they would have every right to boast. No, they’re always too busy dodging the spotlight. So, when you do find one, it makes them unforgettable.
“Tyler? Did you hear me calling you boy?”
“No mom. Sorry, what’s up?”
“Pfiefer is outside waiting for you. You know how she...”
“Say no more fam.” Tyler interrupted with a chuckle, picking up his backpack with a swiftness. He stopped in front of the mirror and waited for her footsteps to descend the staircase before resuming his composure.
“And I guess that is the answer to your question, right? Because she was unforgettable.”
This work is created by, written by and belongs to Aecko and shared here for entertainment.