"Going out to get drunk tonight?" I typed.

I picked up my book, The Odyssey, and started reading. Bryce was sometimes hit or miss when it came to responding. It was not a personal slight to not have him respond or to respond in person the next day. I heard my phone vibrate on the coffee table and picked it up.

"Hells yeah! Coming out?"

"No, I can’t tonight."

"Come on! Let’s go to the bar, Stevens!"

I wanted to meet him at the bar, but I had to work at 8:00 am the next morning and had gotten very little sleep the night before. I didn’t feel like going out. I had come to a decision about what I was going to do and I needed to tell him, but I didn’t want to tell him in person. I wouldn’t be able to without getting emotional and I wasn’t willing to risk confessing my true feelings in a moment controlled by the heart and not with the head.I needed to tell him. I wanted to tell him. I was afraid to tell him. I had worked up the courage and knew that the minute I put my two week notice in at work on Monday, everyone would know. He deserved to know before everyone else. I had finally built the courage and dialed his number. I paused before I hit the green send button on my cell phone. I didn’t think that I was going to actually be able to say the words and that is when I took the coward's way out.

I went to the menu of my cell phone and found the little envelope, hit select, and began to type:

"I am leaving town in two weeks. I am moving back home."

I waited for him to respond. I knew he was awake and I knew he was at home, so the usual reasons for his lack of response were not there. I became incredibly sad. I felt like I couldn't leave without his blessing, but realized that I could no longer handle how I felt about him and remaining in the "Friend Zone." It didn’t matter any more. In a few months, we would both have gone in different directions and would become distant memories of friends we once had.

The phone vibrated on the coffee table again.

I was met with two words: I"’m pissed!"

"Are you seriously pissed at me about this?" I asked, trying to figure out his response.

He answered with the din of silence that caused anxiety to build inside my chest. Something just didn’t feel right. Thirty minutes later, I still didn’t hear anything from Bryce. I called and no answer. His voicemail was full, so I couldn’t even leave a message. I felt alone.

I picked up my cell phone, and just began typing. He may be pissed at me right now and may be trying to avoid talking to me, but I had things I needed to say to him. At least this way, when he stopped being pissed, he would later be able to know exactly what was on my mind.

"Don’t let this get all weird and I will just come out and say it. I always thought that somehow we would make our way to each other. I really care about you. For a while and I thought maybe you felt the same way."

I held my breath. I was finally confessing to him how I felt. As minimal as it was, it was still a confession. It was a few months of feelings put into four sentences and it was as emotional as I was going to allow myself to get. I wasn’t sure how he was going to respond. Within the past month, there had been hints that he may have felt something about me, but they usually came in the late hours of the night after the consumption of liquid courage. I didn’t know if I could trust that, or if I was seeing something that wasn’t there simply because I wanted it to be. I even asked him about something he said once and his response was that even he sometimes gets lonely.

I sat on the couch and picked up my book again. Occasionally I would look over at the phone, pick it up, check to see if my ringer was on, and put it back down again. I would turn my attention back to Homer, having to read each page two or three times, and then look at the phone once more. It had been an hour since I sent the message and I heard nothing from Bryce. I was resigned to the fact that this was one time that I was too honest with him. Instead of reading a page two or three times and then looking at the phone, I simply stopped looking at the phone. Facing him on Monday at work was going to be uncomfortable, but at least it was a discomfort that would be over in two weeks.

I looked at the clock, 9:54 pm. I put down The Odyssey. I gathered my pillow and blanket from the bedroom and camped out on the couch. I turned the television on. I didn’t have cable and only one channel had clear reception. Malcolm in the Middle. I like this show. I settled in for the night, hoping that sleep would not challenge me tonight like it has been every other night. I closed my eyes and thought about everything that had happened this past year. And now change was upon me again. My thoughts were startled by the high pitched ring of my home phone.

"Hello."

"Hi," he said, quietly.

"Hey," I said, matching the melancholy in his voice,"You aren't seriously pissed at me, are you?"

"I am really sad."

We talked on the phone for about thirty minutes. He tried getting me to go out to the bar with him again, and again I had to tell him no. I told him why I couldn’t and he respected that. He told me about bad news he had received that night. He said that he was climbing the walls with rage. And that he was sad that I was going. He confessed that it had not been a good night for him. We talked for a little while longer – for once it was him talking and me listening. We then said our good-byes. I resume my position on the couch and he resumed his place in my thoughts.

I was able to sleep for two and a half hours. For the past several months, I would sleep in two or three hour intervals, waking for an hour or so in between. Some days, I longed for nothing more than a full night’s sleep, but it is something that little-by-little my body had adjusted itself to. I fired up another smoke, bringing the sweet addiction to my lips. I sat in the living room, lit only by the television, and tried to concentrate on the cherry of my cigarette as it was burning down. If I could concentrate on something, my mind wouldn’t start racing and finding slumber again would be difficult, just not as difficult. I looked at the clock, 1:30 AM. My attempts were futile and my thoughts turned to my move. I started creating a checklist in my mind of all the things I needed to do before I left. I started to list off all of the things I would need to put into storage when my home phone rang.

"Hello?"

"Stevens. Have you ever heard the song 'Wonderwall' by Ryan Adams?" Bryce said with urgency in his voice.

"No. I have heard the song 'Wonderwall' by Oasis."

"You need to listen to that song, Stevens."

"It’s one of my favorite songs."

"Stevens, I want to come over. Can I come over?"

"Yeah, Bryce. Come on over."

Oh hell, he was coming over. I raced from room to room, quickly picking up the clutter I had created that night. I was in my pajamas, a tank top and some runner pants. I had no make up on. It was 2:00 am. The phone rang again.

"Hey Stevens, what apartment is yours again?"

I told him and hung up. I heard foot steps outside my door and a knock. I quickly found a zip up hoodie to put on over my tank top and answered the door.

"Hey."

"Hey."

And then he fell into me, wrapping his arms around me and holding me so tight. I didn’t want to leave whatever it was that I felt at that moment, I didn’t want it to end.

I looked at him and saw his sad eyes. It broke my heart to see him like this. It broke my heart even more to feel like I may be responsible. He told me about the events that had occurred that night –feelings of anger, helplessness, and sadness.I tried to give him perspective, point-of-view. I tried to convince him that there was nothing that he could have done.. While I tried to give him comfort and understanding, I ran my fingers up his arm and rubbed his back.
My eyes met his.

"I love you, Stevens. I really do. I’m really going to miss you. I'm not just saying that."

I felt elation fill my chest. I thought for a moment. He just said he loved me. He just said that he loved me. HE JUST SAID HE LOVED ME. I thought for a moment more. I looked at him.

"Bryce, I love you too," slipped out of my mouth before I realized that four months of feelings had just been uncovered and confessed.

"What am I going to do with you?" he said, looking at me for answers.

"I’ll miss you, too. You’ll be fine, Bryce."

I wanted to scream that I didn’t know what I would do without him either. I wanted to scream that I was leaving because I loved him so much and I couldn’t deal with seeing him everyday, being in the friend zone, and wanting nothing more than to be everything plus his friend. But I didn’t. I didn’t say any of those things. I just looked at him and thought about how strange life would be without our daily smokes or him giving me hell for one thing or another or me giving him the kick in the ass that he needed that day.

"I’m not just saying it Stevens. I love you. I mean it. You save me, Stevens."

He had told me he loved once before, but followed it with the words like a little sister. I was left speechless. I was trying to digest everything that he was saying. Was he saying that the way that I felt about him is the way that he felt for me, too? I leaned over and put my arms around him and hugged him. He stayed, buried in my chest, for what seemed like forever. It seemed like forever because it felt so good and because many months led up to this moment – us confessing what others already knew, what many were hoping would happen, and what some predicted to be true.

"I care a lot about you, Bryce."

Our embrace ended. We looked at each other. Not so much looked at each other, but into each other. As cliché and contrite as that sounded, it was true. We each moved in closer to one another and then our lips met. Every secret thought we had about the other, every emotion we felt for one another but kept to ourselves, every hope that we would eventually find ourselves exactly where we were in that moment melted into that first kiss. For the first time in my life, everything felt right.

We fell asleep, entangled in each other, side-by-side, on my couch. It was 5:00 am. I had to be to work in three hours. When I woke up, I woke up happy. I smiled as I got dressed. I smiled as I put my hair in a pony tail. I smiled as I put on the very little make up I normally wore. I smiled as I went to the gas station to by cigarettes. I smiled as I walked into work. Our friend Andy looked at me, and I smiled.

"What are you smiling about, Amy Stevens?"

"I am just really happy," I said, unwilling to give any information.

"Hey Amy. It’s my last day of work here today."

"I know. What am I going to do without you here, McKenzie?" sad that he was leaving, happy that opportunity was given to him to escape.

"Something happened between you two, didn’t it?" he asked, smiling.

I looked at him, a bit caught off guard. How did he know this? Did Bryce say something to him? Did he call him last night to talk before he called me?

"Hey, Amy?"

"What’s up?" I asked, looking up from my desk.

"It was just a matter of time. I knew it was going to happen eventually. I’m glad it happened before I left this joint," He smiled.

I looked at him and smiled.

The day dragged on, and the feeling of being held prisoner wasn't aided by the constant clock watching I was doing. I was distracted, even spilling Mountain Dew down the front of my pants, and really just wanted to go home. Throughout the day I replayed the events of the night before, trying to convince myself that it really happened, trying to talk myself out of it all being a fluke. For the past five months we had been one another's best friends. We had watched out for one another. We joked with one another. We made life for bearable for each other. Everyone was convinced at one point or another that we were together, even though we never were. One night a man that just meant us asked how long we had been dating and when we told him we hadn't, he asked us if we were sure. Could this really be it? My best friend? It was finally time to leave and I left with an alacrity reserved for small animals with tiny feet.

I arrived home and a few minutes later, the phone rang and it was him asking to come over and hang out. I smiled. He knew I would be home. Just as I had waited all day to be done with work, he had waited all day for me to get home. I knew that the night before had meant something. I knew that this was our beginning.

Miller -

I remember telling you on more than one occasion that I wanted my Lloyd Dobler. Of course I had to explain to you who Lloyd Dobler was and what that meant since you are not nearly as cool as me and had no idea about the Best. Movie. Ever. But we both knew you were kind of lame that way.

Every woman wants their Lloyd Dobler - The perfect combination of cool and geek, self-assured and awkward, tough and sensitive. The guy that is going to love you with devotion, fearlessly, and declare, “I want to get hurt!” If that means that he gets to be with you. The man that is going to stand up to your father, kiss you because he means it, move glass out of the way in the parking lot, and keep a protective eye on you at a party. The guy that would stand outside your window, holding a boom box and wearing a Clash t-shirt, and play cheesy Peter Garbiel because that song was on the radio the first time they did the naughty – but what is even more remarkable, is that he REMEMBERS that song was on the radio at all.

Yes, every woman wants a Lloyd Dobler.

Lucky for me, when I got you, I got my Lloyd Dobler and so much more.

I got the man that was willing to stand by me through life and death. I got a man who came to the emergency room when I was afraid. I got the man who opens my pop cans, my car doors, and gets me a smoke. I got the man that told me I saved him, while he was the one saving me. The man that packed up his life and moved 1,000 miles away so I could pursue my dream. The man that held my hand at my son’s grave. The man that I can talk politics, literature, music, and religion with. The man that never wanted to have children, but has been a wonderful step-father to mine. The man that can make me feel like the most special woman in the world with one look and make me feel love in just one touch. I got the man that made me melt the pretty little ice castle that I had around my heart. And I got the man that will watch a Poison concert video just to make me smile. Or cheesy celeb-reality shows because they make me laugh. I got the man who has loved me with such devotion that he never gave up on me. And you might not have stood outside my window holding a boom box playing Peter Gabriel, but you did play for me Wonderwall – Ryan Adams version – and sang to me.

Somehow, I think that I probably came out with the winning hand.

Thank you for being a man, not a guy. Thank you for being Bryce, not Lloyd.

Fordi kanskje ,
du er gonna være det ettall å trygger meg ,
Og når det ,
Du er meg wonderwall


I love you,
F-n Stevens