A Year Of Living Stupidly

6. Saint George, Pt. I

A/N: This is a long one, so I'm breaking it up into four parts.

I'm twenty-two years old and I'm driving.

My new Best Friend rides in the passenger seat. Her 'Other' Best Friend sits between us on the center console, bracing her shoulder against mine, in lieu of a safety belt. My hand grazes her left thigh as I shift gears. Dangerous, illegal, and fucking amazing.

...

"Please tell me one of these women is your wife," She begs.

"Hold your horses. Six years passed before I found any moments that even approximated those I'd shared with 2. Everyone I met was so self-absorbed, yet with such tiny expectations. People who demand little from life mystify me. Are they happier because they don't know better? From the excellence I'd experienced in 2, I understood the difference. Not counting the way she left, she'd raised the bar into the stratosphere. Floating in the clouds pales once you've danced on the stars. To me, it was the stars or nothing."

"Excellence is a reasonable pursuit," She says.

"Even if the price is happiness?"

...

We've just wrapped a solid show at one of our regular clubs. While the crew loads out, the club manager and I settle up and confirm the refreshments/waitress order for the after party. A petite dirty blonde lingers nearby. I invite her to the warehouse. Acute boredom fills her eyes. Nevertheless, I persist with one of the worst lines to ever leave my mouth, "If you come once, you'll come many times. I promise."

"Does that shit work?"

"You'd be surprised."
Actually I'm surprised when she arrives at the party, finds herself a drink, and finds me, in that order. "Why haven't I seen you at any of our shows?" I ask.

"Because your band kind of sucks."

"Well, fuck you very much."

"You wish." Don't I. She's totally cute and so far not at all boring. A blue-eyed girl in a short skirt steps into our friendly fire.

"Awesome show tonight," Blue Eyes flirts. Before I can even thank her, Petite Blonde grabs my face and plants a long, deep kiss on me. Where is this coming from? But then, who cares? "Oh. Guess I'll catch you later," Blue Eyes retreats into the party. The instant she leaves, Petite Blonde pulls away.

"I should be going," she says.

"Oh, you suck."

"Very well, for your information." She giggles and blows a kiss on her way out. She got me good. I go in search of Blue Eyes, but Ex-Partner has pounced. The rest of the night, I smile every time I catch a hint of my new Best Friend's perfume on my shirt.

-THE PRICE OF FRIENDSHIP-

Best Friend and I glue together. She's a pistol, and more than makes up for her smallish stature with an unfiltered mouth that will get me into more jams than my own. She has no problem starting something up with a handful of strangers and ducking for cover behind me.

These nights can induce stress but we laugh always, often at the expense of her favorite target—my sex life. Every time I'm set to seal the deal, she disrupts with a well-timed grope and/or lip lock, until my intended gets the wrong message and flees.

...

"Did you become lovers?"

"We got friendly."