Fascination

I had known Darian for quite some time. We had gone to the same middle school and known each other by name since seventh grade. But it wasn't until our freshman year of high school, when we both joined the track team, that we really got to know each other.

Through countless hours of sweat, tears, and, on occasion, blood, we endured and it made us pretty much inseparable. I don't know if it was like this for him (I hope it was), but it was for me: he was the first person I could ever confidently say was my best friend.

The two of us were kind of dorks and we didn't really have a lot of friends, and because of that we would just talk to each other. There were a couple reasons for this. We were sort of edgy kids back then. We liked to mess around with people, satirize everyone and everything, say stupid things just for the sake of seeing how people would react, all just because it was fun. We did all sorts of cringey shit. I'd like to think that we didn't hurt anyone doing this but I know that's not true. I regret some things, but regardless, those were the most fun times of my life.

It was just chance that brought us together in friendship, and it seemed like chance really wanted it to stay that way. Our first couple track meets, we were the only ones that the other knew. By the time more people had joined who we were familiar with, we had hit it off and become friends without knowing. Track was a nightmare for me the first year, and I hated it, but I loved the social aspect of it. I wasn't sure if that was enough of a reason for me to stick with it. Darian was having second thoughts too, for whatever reason. So we flipped a coin. If it landed on tails, we quit track; heads, we'd give it another year. Both of us ended up doing track until we graduated.

Darian was the brain and the brawn between us. In every measurable way, Darian had more going for him than I had going for myself: and I often found myself being jealous of him. He was taller, more muscular, and easily more handsome than me. His grades were above decent, mine were below. Socially, he was much better off. He was confident and bold (or at least it seemed to me), where I was shy and timid. It's fair to say that we both had our fair share of girl troubles, but with me, the "girl trouble" was that there weren't actually any girls. Darian at least had some girls to have trouble with, and I was always most jealous of that, even if it might be worse to have them rather than not. I had one thing on him, though. He was an insanely smart dude, sharp as a whip, and quick to learn. But he thought too much with his brain. He was too logical: he thought that everything was black and white, always just the way it says in textbooks. He never thought with his heart. That was my own pride and joy that I held over him. Sometimes I would listen to him analyze an issue - sometimes relationships, sometimes philosophy, sometimes just random things - and he would go about it like he was trying to solve an equation. I would chime in with some insight rooted in emotion that he didn't expect, and he would sit back and have to think about it. That always made me feel good.

But it wasn't a contest. I felt like a lesser person than him, but it was okay, because he saw me for me and I saw him for him, and I wouldn't have it any other way.

By junior year we took ourselves, and our academics, more seriously - but not too seriously, and we were still sort of outcasts. So when junior prom came along and Darian complained to me about not having a date, it wasn't a huge surprise. His solution to that issue, however, was.

It was a day late in spring. Even though it was cold, to us it felt like summer and so we sat outside the main doors of the lobby at lunch. Darian was going on about his usual ramblings, and only half-listening, I snuck in a "your mom" joke. That apparently made him lose his train of thought.

"Ah, fuck..." He whispered, deep in thought.

"What's up?" I asked.

"Prom is next week."