My Gemini

Did you ever think we would be here, in this bar, together? That our beer preference would ever shift from the cheapest you can get the random guy at the gas station to buy for us? I met you 9 years ago. Your locker was next to mine. I ask you how that was possible seeing as our last names are on opposite ends of the alphabet. You admit to me that you switched with another 8th grader so you could be closer to mine. I'm more flattered than I let on. For no particular reason we are in a state of nostalgia. We've been in bars before, paid bills like adults, slept with other people, we've paid our dues - for the most part. But tonight we both remember what it was like to be 16 making out in your truck listening to Tom Petty. I ask you about Sophomore year, the year I refused to go to school for a week. I ask you how you got me to come back after 3 days. You shrug. And I thank you again for those three days you brought movies and snacks and played with my hair until I fell asleep. You made me forget that "my life was over". Now we're in a bar, spending our own money, making money at real jobs and aloud to have sleep overs that don't require your mom making sure you're in your bed and I'm still in the guest bed. We're adults now, or some version of it. I guess I never knew this is what it would be like. You're my friend, mistakes and forgiveness are a part of it. Tonight, instead of shrugging off what we've done to each other we apologize. On the walk home you put your arm around me. And I remember again what it's like to be teenage best friends, with no clue that one day we would be walking home buzzed, no curfew, and full of the regrets we try to forgive ourselves for. I love you, Gemini.