"I'm moving."
Breathe. Don't cry. You're stronger than this.
Matt stared at me as though I'd just announced that I hailed from Mars.
"You're what?"
Was that a genuine misunderstanding, or was it just rhetorical? I felt a lump in my throat again.
"Yes, " I shifted a little on the couch, trying to fascinate myself with the leather-covered cushions, and suddenly pent up emotions breached their barriers. "I'm moving to Switzerland, dammit!" Matt leaned back, eyes wide, and I couldn't tell what had alarmed him more--the outburst, or the news.
"Oh, god," he said, averting his gaze to the sole of his shoe. He wasn't trying, much less succeeding, to fool anybody. I could tell he was devastated. Best buddies since fourth grade, and now, as we were going into our Sophomore year of high school, I was deserting him.
We were sitting cross legged on the couch in my family's living room, plodding our way through the third season of the Walking Dead in some type of sick marathon. After all, neither of us really cared for that show, but somehow, we were both faking it that night. He because he was trying to be nice to me, and I because I knew the news had to be broken to him.
"Wow." he attempted to cheer up. "Switzerland is neat! The mountains, the girls, the chocolate? I'm really happy for you! God, I'll miss you, but it sounds awesome!"
I knew he was trying to make me feel better. He wasn't envious at all. I didn't know if he'd ever felt jealousy before. Matt went about life trying to make everybody happy, least of all himself.
"Yeah." I said. "Dad got a transfer. Somehow, his corporate existence ranks above our lives."
That was an understatement. Dad got a transfer. Dad also got a massive promotion. Dad told me that we would be able to live more comfortably--affluently, even, that when he retired we could come back to the states, that he only wanted the best for all of us. Dad wasn't doing it for selfishness sake. Mom didn't want to go just so she could be the envy of the other mothers she would be leaving behind. They both thought that in the long run, I would be happier, more comfortable, and better off. Were they right? I didn't think so.
"Hey, I wouldn't say that. We'll have to stay in touch, obviously."
"I'll come back for two weeks during the summer at least." I faked a smile.
"The best two weeks of our year, right?" He looked optimistic. I had to give it to him, he didn't like to crawl around on his hands and knees wailing and indulging in self pity.
"Right. The best two weeks we will ever have."
I hope.
