The Beginning, Middle, but not the End

Day 6,076 (June 6th)

The summer breeze makes the humid air slightly bearable, but not by much. It's going to be a high of 86 degrees today, so I decide it is time to wear shorts. As I venture down the sidewalk on my daily morning walk, which started three days ago when my therapist suggested I do something physical daily, I tug at the inner part of my shorts. When I walk, my thighs rub together and create a very uncomfortable friction between them. I have my earbuds in, playing classical music. It's nice to walk around when no one is awake while listening to soothing music.

My therapist also suggests I stop avoiding parts of my neighborhood in fear of running into my old friends. Today is the day I take this into account. I walk towards his house, just to pass it up though. Something catches my attention, a car door slams shut. As I near the house, I see Dallas putting things in a truck. What's he doing? The gray, beat up truck with a camper isn't his, nor is it one of our friends, but it looks familiar. Where have I seen it?

I hear it. The sound of quiet music and laughter. The bassist and guitarist for Daily Dazers are wrestling over donuts while Dallas loads amps and cords into the trunk. I should go back, I don't need to do this today. Something in the back of my head pushes me on forwards, almost making me trip. I continue walking, but not pass the house. Instead, my feet wander up the driveway.

"Hey Dallas," I say without giving my mouth consent to speak. He pauses and looks at me with visible dark circles under his brown eyes. I wonder what caused them?

"Jodie," He says as he lifts another amplifier, "What do you want?"

This simple phrase slaps me. My mouth tastes sour, and my stomach starts to churn. After shifting my weight from foot to foot in the moment of awkwardness I ask, "What are you doing? Where are you guys going?"

"Leaving."

"Leaving?"

"Yeah, did you forget? I offered you to come with us," He stops what he's doing and stares me down.

I want to leave, I shouldn't have come here, "What are you talking about?"

He tosses the last couple of chords into the trunk before slamming it shut, and motions the boys to get in. "Are you kidding me? I've been mentioning the tour for months. I've been asking you to come with us for months. Don't play stupid, with me, okay? You knew this was coming."

My eyes sting, "Why are you getting mad at me?"

Dallas raises his voice gradually, "I'm not mad, I'm confused! What did I do that made you so upset that you had to stop talking to me? What happened to us? I thought I was your best friend!"

"You are!" My chest thuds, engulfing my ears in the beat of my own heart.

"No, I'm not. If I were your best friend, you would've come to me instead of pushing me away. I know you're not happy at home, but that doesn't give you the right to treat me like shit. I thought I meant something to you, I thought this meant something to you," He shifts, and rubs his face.

"Dallas, our friendship..it does mean some-"

"No, you know what? I thought it was more than that. I thought I meant more to you. Clearly I was wrong," He shrugs and starts to turn around.

"Stop, just let me explain!" I reach out my hand and grab his bicep, but he shakes me off. "You've had over a month to explain, but you threw away your chances."Tears singe my face like I imagine acid would, "Dallas, please just listen to me. Can we, please, just talk?"

"We've gotta be in Seattle tomorrow. You're holding us behind." Dallas doesn't walk away, instead he lingers there in front of me. The tears that formed in his eyes start to fall one at a time, then all together.

"What am I supposed to say?" I run my fingers through my hair, pushing the strands that stick to my face away.

"If you don't have anything to say, then don't say anything at all."

"When will you be home?" I reach out my hand one last time, but he dismisses it.

He sighs, "I don't know."

Elliot pokes his head out the door, "Dallas come on!" After he shuts it again, Dallas looks at me. His eyes look longing, and I want to hold him. I want him to hold me. I want this to all go back to the beginning.

"Go home, Jodie." He wipes his face one last time and walks around me. He gets in the backseat of the truck. Quickly, I step back and out of the way. The band backs out of the driveway and drives away. I don't know the next time I'll see Dallas, and I don't know if I'll get to talk to him when he gets back. I don't know if he will be back. The vehicle fades from my vision, and I'm left here in my tears and sweat-soaked clothes.

I just want my best friend back.