Crazy Little Thing Called Love

Prologue

The first thing you need to know before reading this story—and I use the term "story" very loosely, mind you, as a story is usually fiction; and I assure you this isn’t—is that he was sick. My best friend, Logan, was sick. He wouldn’t tell me with what he was sick with, just that he was sick and would possibly die.

He was strictly casual and cavalier when he told me, "It could be ten years from now or thirty minutes away."

"Hypothetically thirty minutes, right?" I had asked him.

He’d shrugged.

I knew Logan. If he had some deathly disease he would not want to know the details. For all he knew, it was curable. But that was Logan. He lived on the land of Denial and Avoidance, a place where his little neighbor Beth Hamilton was not allowed.

No, I was supposed to be the responsible friend. The title Ms. Perfect had been placed on my head with a little crown the very second we met. It was a typical story, how we met. He moved in to my neighborhood at age nine and my little eight year old self, desperate for a friend, sauntered over to his house and introduced myself.

Cliché, right?

Logan was a trouble maker. He was always getting himself in deep and always expected me to get him out. The really pathetic thing? I always got him out.

There wasn’t much in life Logan hadn’t experienced, really, but the day he told me he had thirty hypothetical minutes to live, he also stated that things were going to change.

"How?" I’d asked him, trying to be as calm as he was. I wasn’t the one dying, and yet I felt like I was going to throw up or pass out. It seemed a little melodramatic so I forced myself to stand upright and be……well, myself. Logan had enough people worrying over him. And while I knew he knew I was concerned over his well being, he needed me. He needed his best friend.

Logan had slowly showed off his signature crooked smile.

From that day on, even though he never said anything, I knew I would do whatever Logan wanted me to. If he wanted to get plastered drunk, I would be drunker than he was. It didn’t matter that I never drank. If he wanted to smoke weed until his lungs burst, I would be there right along with him. It didn’t matter that I was polluting my perfect lungs when I wasn’t the one dying; it was just something best friends do. Whatever crazy shit he had planned, I was in.

So I had smiled, too, and said, "Okay."

In that small word, I said everything I was thinking and feeling. I said that I loved him more than anything, that I was here for him, that I never wanted to lose him, and that I was scared. I was oh so scared of life without him. I said I would crumble without his support and I would lose myself for a long time without his easy smile and cruel jokes. I told him I wanted to die with him, because that seemed so much easier than living on. I told him it wasn’t fair, that there had to be a way to fix this.

And when Logan said, "Okay," I knew he was saying almost the exact same things I was.

A/N I don’t really know how this story came up. It just sort of randomly came to me and I just had to right it down. This isn’t going to be long at all; not even five chapters. But I just wanted to share this with you, and I hope you like it because I’m putting my whole heart into it.

After watching 50/50 I started thinking of how I would react to my best friend possibly dying. I have come to the conclusion that I am Seth Rogan, lol! But this story is in no way, shape or form, 50/50. And I really do hope you enjoy it. There’ll be laughs, don’t worry, but it’s also going to get kinda deep. I know this is kind of a heavy topic; and I don’t normally do heavy topics, lol. But something in me is saying "write this, and share it" so that’s what I’m gonna do.

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