trust, pt. 4


Didn't we actually meet at a St. Patrick's day party? I can picture it clearly, you complaining about cultural appropriation, about the American need to find an excuse to get drunk. I still hear the sarcasm in your voice, see the ironic little smirk you're still so good at. I showed up late and didn't really know anyone there, but I knew two things as soon as I arrived: I knew that you were pretty much insufferable, and I knew that you liked me for some reason.

I was nervous before I left for the party, and despite all I'd had to drink it wasn't enough to stop me from feeling completely overwhelmed. I stepped out back to get some air, and somehow there you were  standing next to me. "You feeling all right?" All the irony and sarcasm gone. You were actually, genuinely concerned.

Obviously I've since come to regret this decision, but I answered honestly, because at that moment I trusted you. We talked until I felt a little better, then you walked me home. We stood on the porch for a while, and you leaned in close and I was certain you were going to kiss me, and you suggested that I should call you when I wasn't being a sloppy drunk.

In retrospect I know you were just being your insufferable self, but I was drunk on that weird bond that trust makes, and I decided I'd call you the moment I was sober.

1 comment:

Bertha Hernandez said...

Wow. This is solid, man. Are you a professional writer - if not, that's a waste dude.