Clash

It's been ten years since the last time I saw you, and I vaguely remember the day you rode your skateboard at my side in the mall, breaking the rules of society all over again just because you could and get away with it. You always were a mastermind like that. You always interested me, even when we were ten years old and didn't know boys like you and girls like me just didn't mix. But we learned, we learned oh-so-fast that some worlds aren't meant to collide, and when we left the mall that day, you walked out of my life and I couldn't muster the courage to care.

I forgot you. You remembered me. We always were clumsy when it came to friendship, constant contradictions. Life went on, the way it always did, the way it always would. Every now and then someone would talk about you, and your name would trigger something in the back of my mind, daring almost-forgotten memories to sneak out of the shadows and raise complex, misunderstood feelings from the dead.

“You've changed,” you tell me, head cocked to the side like a curious dog.

“You haven't,” I say, walking away from you because I can't remember ever really liking you. I have a selective memory, after all; I'm afraid to admit I ever missed your company.

“Never will,” you say and it sounds like a promise, so it must be a lie. You're stepping on my shadow as I walk through the hall and into my bedroom. You help yourself to my bed; kick off your shoes, lay back and relax while I close the door.

“Humor me,” I sit on the bed, careful to avoid touching you. “How have I changed?”

I don't need you to tell me, I know I'm not the same little girl I used to be. I think I just want to hear you talk some more.

“You grew some tits,” you say and laugh as I slap your shoulder, the motion fluid and natural, the blush on my cheeks second nature.

“Shut the fuck up.”

You sit up, make room for me, and usher me closer. The wall is cold against my back, and your arm across my shoulders feels strange, but I don't pull away. You're making an effort, so will I.

The silence is full of tension, and I watch your fingertips hovering millimeters above my shoulder, never touching but a part of me wishes they would. My heart is pounding, I guess a part of me is still intimidated by you, and I can't take the steady drum-like beat echoing in my skull.

“I wasn't serious,” I sigh.

“Hmm?”

“About shutting up. I didn't really want you to.”

“I know. I just have nothing to say.”

“That's a change.” A frightening one, but it's a change nonetheless. Maybe I was wrong, maybe you have changed a little. You look at me from the corner of your eye, and I look back until I need to twist and turn, get on my knees and face you properly.

“So,” I say, removing your hand from my thigh, “what is this?”

“What're you on about?” You fold your arms behind your head and lay back down, your elbow grazing against my side.

“Are you staying?”

“Do you want me to?”

I shrug. “Do you want to?”

“Only if it's worth it.”

I loom over you, rest my weight on my carpet-burned knees and sweating palms. “I think it could be.”

You chuckle, deep and throaty, a sliver of that laugh I remember loving so much. “We'll see, won't we?”

We always were clumsy when it came to friendship, the two of us constantly contradicting the other. But being in this position with you, your legs tangled with mine, my eyes avoiding yours, I think, for a moment, boys like you and girls like me could mix if we really wanted to.

Do you want to?

-End