An apple, between friends
May 07, 2008
The parkway stretched tan in both directions. Three lanes wide with Sunday drivers breathing the warm air. We were between destinations, me and him and his pretty girlfriend. Sitting on a curb in a little pull away parking area, we shared an apple, between the two of us, and a pair of headphones.
We spent a lot of time together back then. We had considered moving in together, but it never panned out. 'Cowboy Dan', a Modest Mouse song, on the headphones. We sat close so we could share the music. I don't think we were wearing shirts; it was warm and golden enough not too anyway. We gazed out through the tall dried grass, swaying gently in the breeze. He would bite the apple and hand it to me, then I would do the same and return it. His girlfriend was quiet and stood a few feet away, she let us enjoy our song, and each other, and the weather, for that perfect three minutes. Then the apple was nothing but a core, and we stood up. I gave him back his earbud, and the moment was over.
Less than a year later, we would stop talking. His girlfriend would be mine. She would go back to him once, then twice. We would communicate sparsely and haphazardly, always justifying and never forgiving. Sometimes I wish I could just hold on to the things that matter. Friends, like golden weather, like perfect moments, come and go.
Tags for this piece: relationships summer music virginia