I can’t believe it was so long ago. About seven to eight years as I write this. It was 10th grade, and we would always talk on AIM when we got home from school. Your older sister drove you, and I rode the bus. You would always be online before me, but it was cool though, because you didn’t mind waiting. The reason we AIM’ed was because I didn’t have unlimited text, only 250 a month. On top of that, I was on a family plan, so my minutes were limited. You had to wait until nine to call me before we would talk the night away. 9:01 to be specific, so that I could fall asleep on the phone without paranoia in the event that Verizon didn’t count 9:00 as after-nine. I didn’t realize it at the time, but I found security in being content with our schedule. We had routines for everything. Half-days, you would drive us to Buffalo Lanes in Raleigh where we would bowl a few games, then arcade it up after. On the rare winter two-hour delays, we would hang out at my house before class. We The Kings’ first CD would play soundtrack to many of our two-hour delay conversations we would have about our dreams and our aspirations. My memory isn’t what it used to be, but I can still remember certain things, and the certain things I do remember, I remember vividly. Like when you told me that you would date me thru AIM in 9th grade and you said you liked pizza and steak, but I didn’t respond because I was running around my house, and you complained a couple minutes later about how you “just poured your heart out to me” and I went afk (away from keyboard). Sometimes there are just some things that stick with us with no explanation as to why.
When it ended abruptly, but inevitably during winter break of 2009-2010, I was fortunate enough to have had realized a few things. I realized what I took for granted and how much I missed those things. Mainly the ones that I had become accustomed to over the duration of our time together. I didn’t understand how I could overlook so many of these routinely happenings. Walking you to the 3600 hall way where your AP English class was located, debating lunch plans over text, and our nightly after-nine phone calls. All of these things seemed so minute, but collectively, they became the majority of our lives at one point in time. It didn’t connect until the first night that I was out on my own. There was an emptiness. An emptiness that sort of felt guilty. I remember texting Chaz trying to explain to him how vulnerable I felt. He tried calling me and calling me, and ironically, I didn’t pick up because I felt alone. He had his dad drive over to my house that night, and he rang the doorbell two or three times. It must’ve been around one am. In awe that my parents didn’t wake up, I went downstairs to answer the door and he asked me if I was good. I told him I was straight and we dapped. His dad was waiting for him in the car, parked in my drive way. The whole exchange lasted, maybe, 90 seconds. Chaz returned to his dad’s car after. As they drove off into the distance, I remember thinking to myself how all of our half-day’s at Buffalo Lanes, and all of our AIM conversations, and in general, all of our days were slipping away into the distance just like his dad’s 300c.
From that night on, I started to see things in a different light. I started to find comfort in change, becoming accustomed to adapting to the things out of my control. Coincidentally after that night as well, our interactions slowed down. Not in a gradual manner, but instead, more of a cold-turkey manner with relapses here and there. That’s what’s expected when you are young and in love though. It’s hard to move on, so hard that sometimes you only move on so that you move backwards just to say that you’ve tried. Like I said, it’s expected, almost like a natural occurrence of some sort divined by the Love Gods. Over time, my hours at Andy’s, a burger joint that I worked at in high school, increased, and your name was banned from the restaurant by Ben because you were all I would talk about. My days gradually turned into working and writing. In the months to come, the subject of conversations held between my friends and I would slowly shift from our situation to sports and music. Things weren’t the same after us, and I say that in a coming of age way. It almost seems like there’s always a lack of appreciation in being comfortable. We get used to certain things. But even routines change, and in the change of our routine, a new routine was formed without our love. I’ve become so accustomed to this routine for some years now, that I couldn’t even imagine what it was like back then. I can’t believe it was so long ago.
