We wrestled everywhere—in our living rooms, our moms yelling take that upstairs, take that to the basement, in our yards until our jeans were grass-scuffed, until our T-shirts were torn. We ambushed each other—sneaking up behind the other person when they were carrying milk or a plate of spaghetti, laughing our asses off even as we mopped or peeled noodles from the wall. We lied for each other.

He gave me shit when my mom insisted on cutting my hair—your head looks like a globe, bro. You’ve got patches of islands and a big continent over here, what is that, South America? But then he convinced his cousin Alonzo to come through and shape me up. You think I’m gonna let my boy go to school like that, he said when I’d thanked him. Only person who gets to take shots at you is me, he’d said, thumbing his chest.

We were long-haul friends.

We were old before our time.

We were going to apply to the same colleges.

We’d be roommates, in college and after.

We’d backpack across Africa; we’d laugh at ourselves as we pretended to be clueless adventurers—we’re going on holiday, see, he’d say. And I’d say, yes, yes, mate, on safari, if you will.

There were some things we didn’t have to say.

Some things we just knew, the way you know the sun is out there, the way your body knows to breathe without your help.

We knew we’d always be there for each other. And not the way you usually say it, easy come, like you’re picking lint from a sweater.

We would be there.

Beside.

Next to.

Behind.

We were built for this.

This, forever.

But no one told us nothing lasts.

That forever is just something they print on greeting cards.

Not that we would’ve believed them.

No one warned us everything crashes.

And that what didn’t break always burned bright, fast.

No, we learned this alone, and hard.

94

I take a long sip to stall.

We’d snared soda from a cooler.

“Someplace quiet,” Q’d said and I followed him past the bonfire, up the ridge.

This was quiet. The party hushed like a closed door.

And somehow, just by sitting here, we’d made it quieter.

This, one of those what would you say if you ever got the chance moments.

I swallow hard, the ginger ale sizzling down my throat, like it’s alive.

“Sooooo,” I say, stall-extending.

We’re barely five feet apart, but if you measured from Point Jamal to Point Q, there are light-years between us.

Q pulls his knees into his chest but they immediately slide back. I’d forgotten this: how it’s like he has zero body control. Like if you got close enough, you’d see strings flailing his arms and jerking his sneakers.

So random, what we remember, and when.