A Requiem for Lost Friendship

Complete story

A Requiem for Lost Friendship

Some say that time is the world's worst serial killer but I never subscribed to that. To me time is a concept that is almost impossible to define, it can at times move faster than projectile vomit from an obese woman after a week of eating nachos or slower than a season of Smallville. I know what you're thinking, what is this fool yabbering on about. Well, I'll tell you.

As I woke up this morning, shucked off my SpongeBob Square pants silk boxers and trundled down the hall to take my morning shit. Dear reader, I know you're wondering why I drop the underdacks before hitting the captain's chair to wipe out the Klingons. I do it to freak out my bitch older sister, hopefully she'll fucking move out with that fucking shiteater she calls a boyfriend. You have no idea what it is like to hear your sister riding the pork rissole every second night.

I rushed into the crapper, dropped the toilet seat and let brown free. I flipped open the Ipad, which I always take with me when I take a shit. This may sound strange but it's better that any old book. I always use it to check my Myspace. Before you snigger, just let me tell you, it shits all over fucking Facebook with the copious adverts and fucking insidious virus' which are just waiting to screw up your day. Plus it's the internet's version of a ghost town. You can hear a fart from Norway if you listen carefully. I think there are about seven of us still lurking on there at any one time.

As usually there's nothing so I began just amusing myself (keep it above the belt line, pervert) by just surfing. I can't even remember what site I was perusing when I saw her. It has been 3 years since I'd seen her image, let alone spoken to her but at that moment I was drawn back into that time in my life. A time I hoped never to have to think of again.

The Ipad is a hell of a product you know because it was at this time that I learnt that it was waterproof. Without even realising it, salty tears ran down my face and fell from the precipice of my cheeks onto the screen below. Her tawny face blurred by my pain.

Before I could stop myself, I began to openly sob. My hands shaking uncontrollably and my heart beating like a mariachi band on speed, seeing a ghost that I had purposely blocked.

I had not cried for three years and let me tell you, there is nothing less edifying than being an 18 year old man crying, naked on your toilet while the smell of festering shit is permeating all around you. See, when you cry often it is hard to get a lot of oxygen so you begin to gulp. That is what I was doing but what I was taking in was the fetid air of my own rancid bowels. For some reason this struck me as funny. Not Adam Sandler funny but dying in the living room funny, a gallows humour.

This was especially true when my attention was drawn from the screen to the insistent knocking on the toilet door by my worried mother.

I quickly attempted to assuage her fears, claiming that the changes in my life were just hitting me for the first time. She just told me its ok (the doubt clearly evident in her voice) and be quiet before I woke Dad and Michelle.

I heard her shuffling back to bed, muttering caustically under her breath what a fucking weirdo I am.

I quickly wiped my teary, bloodshot eyes and furiously running nose with a few lucky squares of toilet tissue to at least attempt to create some semblance of normalcy. My head began to throb, a constant drone, insistent in its malevolent fury.

You know it wasn't her face that caused my pain but it was her eyes. They were the same eyes that I see in the mirror every day of the last three years. Eyes without hope, eyes without love, the eyes of a person who has no hope, no dreams, the eyes of the dead.

After I wiped, washed and hurried back to my room (still covered in my Muppets posters) I decided it was time to write about what happened all those years ago, even though it pains me to do so.