My bloodsucking best friend

Chapter Twenty-Five

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We spend the whole rest of the night talking and passing out next to each other, and when sunlight tickles my closed eyelids and singing birds awaken me through the tilted window, I'm alone. I can't say I expected anything else, but the taste of disappointment is bitter on the tip of my tongue. 

Both of us were careful not to talk about anything serious, but we really bonded when discussing everything that came to our minds regarding dead, old, new and active bands and memorable records, overrated and underrated movies, fictional characters and whether you should ship them (you should), the rating of cliffhangers in season finales and the fact that Andy needs to start reading books, and which ones he should start with. Not that he'll do it anyway, but it was nice to talk about it.

As I walk down the creaking stairs, I take my time to look at all the framed pictures on the wall that haven't been exchanged since the last time I was here. A familiar ache arises somewhere deep in my chest when my fingers trace the dusty glass and I marvel at the familiar sight of Andy's face throughout the years, his mother and other friends and relatives appearing in the picture here and there, and there is one photo right at the end of the staircase that shows him with me. Because of our close friendship, Amy always wanted me up on the wall, but I stubbornly refused because I hated the thought of having my dorky face up there, but after what felt like hours of persuasive conversation techniques, I was convinced to agree to one photo, and that one right before the last stair step couldn't have been picked more perfectly.

It shows the two of us on our first Fourth of July together, young teens with wide grins on angsty and insecure, yet indescribably happy faces as we embraced each other tightly under the dark night sky brightly lit up by countless fireworks clearly visible in the background of the picture. 

I remember how Andy invited me over to his place, but his mother had forgotten to buy fireworks and they were sold out all over town, so we joined a gathering of a bunch of neighbors we had never even talked to down the street by the playground where kids awkwardly danced around a cheap bonfire and parents drank beer, feeling completely out of place, but we didn't mind because as soon as the sky had turned black, we were handed firecrackers and lighters and watched the jet-black sky light up with countless of quick bright flickers and flashes, glowing balls of lights, bursts and explosions in patterns and colors, synthetic stars dissolving into nothing, constant flows of strobing sparkles, multitudes of glittery faux comets, all of them exploding with loud bangs, screeches, whistles or no sounds at all after bringing the world beauty in its purest form for the blink of an eye.

Before Amy showed up to take our picture and celebrate with us, I remember Andy telling me I was his best friend for the first time as we remained in our tight embrace for minutes, his skin still hot back then, and I believe I even remember the way his soft lips felt on my forehead when I said we had only known each other for months, but I already didn't know what to do without him in my life because I'd never had a friend so close to me in my whole life.

But all of that was a different life, a life before everything changed forever and that I'll never get back. If only we could catch memories and store them in mason jars to open and relive them every time we want to go back. 

"I figured we'd stop by IHOP for breakfast, but Jess doesn't eat anything there. How about you, Lily?"

Absorbed in thought, I didn't even hear Amy come and her voice violently disrupts my reminiscing. "What?" I absently say and blink a few times to regain all of my senses.