Night in the Ruts

4 Letters in the Dictionary - Charlie

I tried to apologize.  Multiple times.  I even told him that I didn't really love Steven.  But then I started thinking.  And I realized that I should really stop thinking.  And when I had that thought, I pulled out the dictionary.  I was home alone, watching an American Bandstand rerun and eating a bag of chips (holy shit, I brought the bag into the living room!  I'm going to Hell!...says my mother).  But I wasn't really watching.  I was, as mentioned, thinking.  Which I should stop doing.

        So anyway, I pulled out the dictionary from its recesses in the cabinet next to the refrigerator and above the phone, and looked up two words:

        Love is defined as an intense feeling of deep affection.  I looked it up because I was curious and beginning to scare myself.  And I've never done this love thing before, so I wanted to be sure what I was feeling.  Like: to find agreeable, enjoyable, or satisfactory; wish for, want.

        Well, Steven is both enjoyable and satisfactory (God, what is he, a fruit basket?).  I also wish for him to be (in other words, want him to be) with me.  I do have this affection for him, though I can't say it's intense and deep. So for now, I like him.

        And what I'm most guilty of in relation to Nicky is that I spend almost every minute with Steven Tallarico of Aerosmith.  How frickin' cool am I?  I spend all my time with a future-rockstar.  And ditch my best friend in the process.

        But he seems pretty happy.  He's got Danny and Marky and Jimmy and Pinky and Mandy and all the other _____-y's.  Although, they're also my only other friends, because, as I've said, Nicky was at one point my only friend.  So I joined Nicky's friends.  And Nicky gets pissed when they talk to me.  I made sure to talk to them a lot.

        So I guess he doesn't seem that happy, then.  Oh well.

        But now that school's started (senior year, woot-woot–not), I've been spending more time with my homework, and Steven is immensely busy with his touring.

        I still don't know if we're dating or not, either.  I mean, we sure do kiss and hold hands a lot to just be 'friends,' but he hasn't asked and I'm too introverted to say anything, so...

        We've both established that we like each other.  I doubt he's loser enough to look up love and like in the dictionary, like I am.  I think I'm going insane over all of this.

        I've never had a boyfriend; shit, I've never even held a boy's hand!  Much less kissed one... Except for that one time when Macy (Nicky's cousin) decided to have a make-out party (if that's a thing) in the fifth grade and we played Seven Minutes in Heaven.  But it was actually more like Seven Minutes in Hell because no one quite understood the concept.  All I'm saying is: That game is supposed to involve a closet.  Not a circle where you watch the two people.

        I'm sure if we actually understood the concept and used the broom closet, poor little Wayne Piccinato could've gone without head butting me, and then doing some weird kissing thing (it had to be on the lips–we also only thought that all you did was kiss.  Seven minutes of kissing.  Damn, we were stupid), and then–because he was so nervous–pissing his pants.  To this day, he's Wayne Piss-i-nato.  Of course in fifth grade he was Wayne Pee-i-nato, but then we reached junior high and got real creative.

        But it's okay because he thinks it's funny.  He's the only stoner-friend whose name doesn't end in a -y or -ie.  We've actually changed it so that it sounds like tornado.  A Tornado of Piss.  Piss-nado.  Not even Wayne.  Just, Hey, Piss-nado!  What's crack-a-lackin'?