The Right Kind of Wrong

1

It seems like the whole world just stopped and catapulted itself over my shoulders, compressing my brachial plexus together with the other structures that run through my very shoulder. It feels like third year college all over again.

"So going home, are we?" he chuckled as he finishes buckling in. Without any hesitation, I nodded by being so impolite all of the sudden. I fixed my glasses and arched my back over my seat. So awkward. He never did change for all I know. His moles are still there. He has lots of them, Keith. He nudged me with his shoulder and there it is again, that sharp climbing pang o electricity that I felt. "Cat got your tongue?" he asked and laughed. I just smiled and kept on smiling. I didn't know what to say to the guy. I mean we have never been in contact with each other since that third year of college. He never seemed to care to keep in touch when he moved on. "How are you?" I finally said and shave my hand to his, aiming for a handshake, since we are all professionally driven here, right? Well, he took it and shook. "I'm fine actually." He took a deep breath and leaned against his chair. "Going back home, to my family after all these years is making me home sick as hell. And besides its summer, it's time for a vacay." He smiled and turned to face me, arching an eyebrow at me. "What?" I said and he beamed me another smile. "How are you buddy?" oh did I forgot to tell? We were best friends way back college years. And now, I don't know. He seems like a complete stranger to me.

"Same as always." That was all that I could manage. I took a deep breath and sunk lower in my sit. I am not usually like this. This is really embarrassing. Of all the passengers that could be seating next to me, fate brought him here. Must be one of those unlucky days I get for being such a stubborn person.

It got quiet after that. We are not usually like this. Way back in college, days were just as fun as any other. Especially whenever I spent it with this guy. We'd always laugh together about so many things and well, almost about anyone.

"How's back home?" I tried to salvage the already dead conversation.

"What?" he looked over his shoulder as if forgetting that I was even there.

"You know, your Gran and everyone else."

"Oh, they're all good."

"How about your wife and kids?"

There was that quizzical look on his face again with his eyebrows knot on his broad forehead. "Wife and," he looks disgusted. "Kids?" he repeated with a grin on his face. "Yeah, you said you're going back to your family. And to me, that seems like a solid statement of having a wife and some little mini versions of you which I know is an abomination to this earth." We both laughed at that so hard and we can't stop laughing. He can't stop laughing. I even saw some tears leaving his eyes. "You never changed, do you?" he took a pause and then laughed even more. This time a little bit harder with his hands propped against his knee for support. "Always assuming things." He then took a sigh and grasp the armrest of his chair. "There is no family for me. I'm still hooked to that first love of mine." There it is again, that mystery that he never shared with me. "So you never got married after all those years?" I asked, prying a little. I want to crack this shell a little bit more just to be clear that he isn't hiding something. Well, that shouldn't be any of my business but what if he is a serial killer? I should know, right? But right now, he really is a total stranger to me. He seems vaguely different now. He seems lost at the moment.

"No. I haven't." he smile reassuringly and shook his head. "I've never moved on from her." And by her he means Angela, right? Who's Angela? She's been the girl she's been so hung up with but they never clicked, they never happened. So I don't know who he's talking about but let's just assume that it is her. Well, there were many of the girls she got around with, so right now, I don't know who it is.

"Where is she?" I tried to pry, again. He looked straight forward and smudged his glabella together. When I got nothing I stared at the window with no hope of him answering back. I tried to sleep but I can't shake off the feeling that he is right there, beside me. "She's seating on a window right now." He said. I looked over my shoulder and turned to face him, his face flushed. "What?" I said and look at his dough brown eyes. The circles around his eyes never got to fade. I don't know the reason why but if he is stressed, I know some relaxation techniques that could help alleviate whatever he is going through. His eyes are sadder than ever. I know he has those eyes that could melt you with sorrow, but now, it just seems worse than before. "She's on a plane back home." He pursed his lips together as if stopping a flood from coming. He seems hurt. And that's my signal to stop and take a halt. She's going back home, whoever she is. Maybe that is really the reason why Keith is going back home, to see her.

The flight attendant said to take our seats and buckle up through the mic and then the engine hummed to life, like a dragon gurgling, fire ready to spit out. I grabbed hold of the arm rest and took a deep breath. I really don't like the take offs. They make my stomach all queasy.

After that we're already floating in space, with the clouds heavily a drift in the ocean of stars. I think this is the end of this conversation. We have a long way to go. And I just can't keep holding out for him when he's bored or something. When he turned away and rested his head over the armrest I know he's already sleeping. With that, I took a deep breath and waved the white flag; I surrender. There is so many things that I wanted to tell him but I guess he isn't in any mood to be in my company. I guess he shares the same contempt that I feel.

I kept my window open, with the light of the moon and the stars blindly astray through it. The clouds are the stroke of a million shades of gray. They seem so thick and plum, likely to be slept on. But they are not real. Not real like the friendship we used to have.

With sleep gnawing at my eyelids, I turned to him expecting to see if he's awake still. With no desirable result, I closed my eyes and hoped for something greater than what just happened.

"Good night, Keith." I trailed off and fell to a deep slumber.