Thursday, September 2, 2010

Keith, 14-16

we've got a license to live, it's our only one
if it expires we float up to the dust haze
i've got a picture of you
-Pavement

Keith is my favorite boyfriend I never dated. We had the best platonic relationship imaginable. We had fun, got along almost perfectly, and were completely comfortable with each other (well, I was completely comfortable with him, at least). We knew each other in junior high through friends of friends, but our real friendship started freshman year. We had a free period together, which in High School meant a lot. We had 47 minutes of barely supervised time to get into mischief. And to eat lunch.
The best thing about Keith was that I could be myself with him. I tried to play it cool in social settings for the most part, but my real self (which is pretty ridiculous) was hidden to all but a chosen few. The sillier I got, the most I amused him.
Keith was a talented musician on the bass, although his lesser know instrument was he harmonica. He could play it with his nose. Well. We spent a lot of time playing with his harmonica in the hallways, even going as far to sit outside the boys room and put a hat down for tips. That's how it was with Keith: every fifth period was an adventure. We would walk around in circles, entertaining ourselves easily. Once we found a tire-like rubber thing with a hole in the middle. Keith put it on his head an walked around the cafeteria. My favorite memory is the time he spotted a nearly full Gatoraide in the trash and plucked it out. Before he even had a chance to drink it, the lunch lady rushed over.
“You poor thing! Let me get you a free lunch!” She exclaimed, pulling the drink out of his hands.
She totally thought he was homeless or something. Anyways, we enjoyed that free bagel immensely.
As with all young boy-girl friendships, everyone thought we were dating. Or at least really, really liked each other. I confess I thought about it from time to time, what it would be like to date him, but I could never wrap my head around it. There was nothing sexual about it at all. Jake (my melodramatic friend from the intro) was Keith's best friend and, because Jake was kind of a dick, he composed a catchy tune with accompanying guitar that went like this:
“Keith loves Modane
Keith love Modane
KEITH LOVES MODANEEEEE!”
He's very talented, you know. The more people teased us, the more we protested. We grew apart by sophomore year because I was so into being popular. But when junior year came around and I was ceremoniously cast out from the in crowd one fateful weekend, we started hanging out again like nothing had happened. It was a tough time for me, for sure. But Keith was there, sitting with me at lunch when no one else did, and writing me a love sonnet on Valentines Day because I was sad. I remember when, over Christmas break, my family went on a cruise and I got a tan (which for me is a slightly darker shade of pale). When he saw me the first day back, he uttered words which were, for a long time, the nicest thing a boy ever said to me.
“You look really good. When I saw you, I thought the pretty people were going to take you away from me.” That's one of those memories that is so clear I can remember what I was wearing and where I was standing and all that.
We grew apart by the end of the year, for some reason. I think we got in a fight, maybe. And it was as awkward as a breakup. I avoided eye contact and had that weird, icky feeling of seeing someone who you used to be so close with and now don't even talk to, almost every day.
Last summer, because his friend group and my friend group collided because of a shared interest in parties and beer, I hung out with him a few times. I tried to act like we used to, to make him laugh again like the time I told him peeing was my favorite emotion. But I don't think it worked. I felt awkward because I was drunk, and we'd never been around each other drunk before. We were way more innocent than that. And, after all, I'm not at all the same girl I was, and he's definitely more grown up and more confident. I still, however, have an urge to be that girl, and reclaim that level of comfort we had. But we did hold hands while running around a golf course. And I still have the sonnet. I was going to post it here, but I don't want to share it.

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