Dear Boy I'd Do Anything For,

I wasn't attached to you in a romantic way. I loved talking to you on the phone. I had to hide you from my father, of course, so we didn't see each other much. In fact, I'd known you for a month and had never seen you other than at the mall or the movie theatre.

That all changed with the onset of freedom.

During one of our phone conversations, I mentioned that my mother would be staying with my brothers and I while my dad was away on vacation. It perked your interest just like I'd planned. You knew my mother's alcoholic tendencies since I described them to you often. It was a point of humor when we talked. 'Guess Where My Mom Passed Out Today'. Your favorite was the time I found her sleeping on top of the dryer, her legs in the water-filled basket of the washing machine.

You mentioned that I should come see you and hang out when I got the chance. I reminded you that I had no vehicle, and you said nothing. I heard your lips part from around your cigarette, and you spoke as you held the smoke in, sounding congested. You told me you could get someone to pick me up when I needed it, and the last few words came out as an exhale, carbon dioxide coated with other toxic fumes. I didn't smoke. But I always thought you looked cool.

I told you that in three days I would have two weeks without proper parental care, and you made a grunting noise and I heard shuffling in the background. You told me you had to go, but you'd call me and we'd get together. Josh had a car and was willing to pick me up if I needed it. I said my goodbyes and hung up the phone.

I didn't hear from you for a week. After four days of hearing nothing, I'd almost forgotten to wait for your calls. My dad was gone on vacation now, and I was doing the same thing I always did. Sit at home. Sometimes I'd go out with my friends, but we never did anything we wouldn't do with my parent home. On the seventh day, my phone rang and "Private Caller" flashed across the Caller ID. Those always intrigued me, so I was first to answer.

Your voice rang across the lines into my ear and I grinned. You offered no explaination of your absence, just asked if I wanted to come chill with you. Of course I did. I gave Josh directions, since he was the only one sober enough to follow them.

Twenty minutes later, at 12:25AM, the two of you were idling in front of my driveway, music turned down and headlights off. I slid off the back of my dad's Ford Explorer pickup truck and walked to the car with my hands in my pockets. It was an old black volvo with no clear coat. You leaned over the passenger seat to say hello, and Josh waved backwards at me. I put in my own hellos and we drove quietly down the street and exited the neighborhood before the lights were turned on and the music was revved back to full blast.

We didn't talk the whole way to your house. The music was too loud to hear any speech, anyway. No one else drove on the streets as Josh flew down the backroads, tires continually crossing the yellow lines. I stared ahead out the windshield. I was nervous, slightly, almost sweating. It was unknown to me at the time, but panic attacks and social anxiety dissorder were a big part of my life.

Josh turned the car into a dark parking lot, headlights twisted to lowbeam. He parked behind the abandoned dry cleaners and turned on the overhead light while you reached into your pocket and produced the tiny bag of white powder. I assumed it was coke, though I'd never seen it. You confirmed my suspicions when you told me what it was, asking if I wanted some. I said no, and you never asked again as you and Josh measured out small bumps on your house key. No cars drove by. You didn't pressure me.

After everything was secured away, Josh pulled back out and finished the drive to your house. I knew you did drugs. I hadn't expected you to be so accepting that I didn't do them. That was just part of everything I enjoyed about you - you let me be me.