Best Friends

By J. L. Wendelin

We’ve always been a pair, haven’t we?

Ever since we met, that first day of fifth grade, both of us new to town and, who was it, Tommy Ridgeway I think, was giving you a hard time. You had on your Red Sox hat with your long hair pulled out through the back. He kept trying to take your cap but you were faster. You were toying with him almost, letting him get close only to duck away at the last second. Boy, was he pissed. Then he called that jerk — you know, the big guy, never washed his hair, I forget his name. Anyway, when the two of them started after you I came over to help you. We sure gave them what for!

You ended up with a bloody nose and I got a black eye. But the whole playground cheered when you kicked Tommy in the nuts — he’d bullied everyone for so long. Oh, and the dirty look the principal gave us when he came into the office and there we were, reliving the blow-by-blow, giggling about it, you holding a towel to you nose and me with an ice-pack on my eye. Never bothered us again ’though, did they? Or anyone else when we were around.

Who woulda thought that day we’d be here, fifteen years later.

You always played the “tomboy”, tough-as-nails, but so kind and sentimental on the inside. You cried when I accidentally hit that squirrel with my bike. It was hurt bad and I wanted to put it out of it’s misery, but you…you went over and reached down to comfort it. Then it bit you! The look on your face was hilarious: the shock, pain, and confusion. I started laughing at you holding your bleeding hand and swearing, at first angry then laughing yourself. Of course, they had to kill the poor bugger anyway and test it for rabies and you had start those shots in the stomach until the test came back negative. They let me stay with you when you got the shots, even though we were both just kids. You squeezed my hand so hard it hurt — but not as much as your pain from those monster needles. I saw your jaw clench and the tears in your eyes.

Remember co-ed softball in junior-high? Everyone would underestimate that short kid on third-base, until you’d explode into action. No one was faster chasing down balls. Sure, I could hit a lot better but I couldn’t beat you at fielding, or stealing bases for that matter.

I don’t know about you, but I’ll never forget our first kiss. That hot August night, lying in the grass, watching the Perseid meteors streak overhead, just talkin’ ’bout stuff. We both were quiet for a bit until you rolled on to your side and, with your hand holding up your head said, “I think I love you.” You leaned over and kissed my cheek. I was shocked. I mean, we’d been friends, like, forever but I’d never though of it that way. I turned to face you and you reached out, pulled me in and kissed me again, this time on the lips. I liked it. It felt good. It felt right. Soon we were lost in more kisses and more. We kinda forgot about the meteors.

By high school we’d both pretty much given up sports. I mean, I was becoming Mr. Academic and you…well, you started down the art and design path. You were making your own clothes by then and then started creating pieces and even whole outfits for everyone in our group. Some of those early getups were pretty goofy looking, even you have to admit that. Still, we were all of us pretty much outcasts and your clothes helped to reinforce that. You were cross-dressing all of us by then, in some form or another, not just yourself. But damned if we didn’t show them with Midsummer.

Your costumes were perfect. You took moth-eaten crap that had been hanging in the theater’s attic and turned it into a something magical. You outfitted the gods as Victorian ladies and gentlemen and the fairies as sexless sprites. But Nick Bottom and his band were gender-confused, free-spirits. You took what you normally dressed us in, twisted it a bit, (which didn’t seem possible but you did), and gave those “rude mechanicals” a whole new form.

And then there was Titania. Her costume you made from scratch. Flowing and diaphanous, hiding and highlighting the curves of the fairy queen; it certainly drew more than a few comments. I’m surprised Ms. Johnson let Jenny Williams wear it. But she was going to retire that year anyway so I don’t think she cared. And I think she had a thing for Jen. Now that I think about it, almost everyone, male or female, had “a thing” for Jen at one time or another — you and me included. After the show her mom came storming back stage, swearing up and down that “Jen was not going to wear that ‘slutty gown’ tomorrow night”? Ms. Johnson finally got her calmed down. Meanwhile, I had to hold you back so you wouldn’t rip Mrs. Williams’ head off for calling your costume “slutty”.

And here we are…. You’re a successful designer, I’m a struggling writer, and we’re still a couple. Kinda incredible, isn’t it?

Damn, it’s getting late. I think just nodded off there for a bit; this chair is pretty comfy. I’ll just curl up here. I know you’re sedated and haven’t heard a word I’ve said, although, I don’t know. They say even heavily sedated people are at least partly aware of what’s going on around them. So maybe you picked up some of it. Anyway, the doc says the surgery went well and she doesn’t think there’ll be any problems. ’Though you still got a bunch of healing to do and probably some pain for a while, it looks like your sex finally matches your gender.

I’ll be here with you all night and in the morning. And many more beyond. I love you. Goodnight, sweetie.

 © 2007 JLW

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Thanks to everyone who gave this a preview and made suggestions and edits. Angela, Kristina, John, Grover and Janet. (Especially Janet, for the title.)