Good For Gone

Old Friend

"What's with the secrecy?"

"Don't think of it as a secret, think of it as more of a surprise."

"Same difference."

"It'll be fine." Was all he said as we slid into the back seat of the car.

Annoyed, I stayed silent for the majority of the car ride.

I felt his hand settle gently on my knee and he squeezed it reassuringly. We rarely got to show so much open affection, but the guard was busy driving, so it couldn't have hurt.

I placed my hand over his, wishing I could feel the familiar roughness of his skin. But even if I took off the glove I wouldn't be able to feel anything. The gnarled skin of my hand was a cold shell around me. It felt like I was shriveling up inside myself

We pulled up in front of an apartment complex and Peter and I got out.

"Where are we?" I asked. This was a side of town I'd never been on. Most of the places I was toted around to were considerably more white collar than the homely set of apartment buildings in front of me.

"You'll see."

"I hate you so much."

"You wish." I glared at him as he tried to contain a smile.

I followed him through a door and up a staircase towards another door marked D2. He knocked with his usual rat atat-tat rhythm.

For a few moments there was just silence, but soon I could hear the sound of someone rustling around behind the door.

When it opened up I subconsciously took a step back in surprise.

Standing in front of me, as perfect as ever, was Callie. Her hair was in a messy bun and she was dressed like she'd just gotten back from a pool. Her red cheeks crunched up in a big smile a second before she flew at me and grasped me in a tight hug.

I raised my arms up hesitantly but barely managed to hug her back before she let go and began barraging me with questions.

"I can't believe it, you're wearing a dress! You have to tell me everything! You got married? You're not in school anymore?"

I wasn't sure how to answer her. I was much more preoccupied with my own questions, to be honest.

After I hesitated for a minute she said, "Come in," and lead us both inside the apartment.

It was cute, filled with unplayed albums and posters of Japanese cartoons. Which was pretty much what I expected a place of hers to look like. But how did she get here? She went to Western Kentucky, and even if it was summer, why would she be all the way over here?

"You have to tell me everything." She repeated as we all sat down on her futon.

"Um, I mean, yeah, I got married and stuff." I stutter, trying to figure out how much I should tell her.

"I just can't believe it, I didn't know you had it in you."

"Yeah, I guess I'm full of surprises," I say, and then do my best to change the subject, "So what are you doing here."

"I moved in with my boyfriend during the summer," she said proudly, "Crazy, right? I mean it doesn't even hold a candle to what you've been up to, but it's so funny that we managed to end up here together again."

"Yeah, that's super weird," I said, trying to hide the suspicion in my voice.

"You look great too," she reached out and touched a highlighted ringlet of hair, "and your new sense of style is... Interesting."

I see her eyes scan my high collar, long sleeve cardigan, and black gloves. Defiantly not appropriate for the dead of summer.

I pull my arms in towards myself, feeling oddly defensive. Being stared at like I was crazy was something I'd grown accustomed to, but this felt different.

With her, it felt like she was trying to evaluate what some rich guy would see in me. This boring, unimpressive girl who followed her around in high school. I wasn't the one who was beautiful or talented, she was, and we both knew it.

And even in the supposedly high-powered position I was in, it felt like I'd plummeted straight back to my rural Kentucky high school.

Peter could sense my discomfort and I felt his hand on my back. Callie's eyes flashed to the movement curiously, but she didn't comment on it.

I itch my hand mindlessly and she says, "Oh yeah I heard your ring was beautiful, can I see it?"

She reaches for my hand and I jerk away from her touch.

"Oh sorry," I said, trying to cover up my behavior, "I can't take the gloves off."

"Why not?"

I grabbled for an answer. My brain didn't know what to do, she'd asked me more questions in the last few minutes than she'd asked in the four years we were friends.

I settle on, "I'm sick," and hope she takes the vague excuse. But before I forget I add, "Wait, how did you know what my ring looks like?"

I figured she'd been filled into some degree about what had happened to me, but the ring was a strange detail for her to apparently know so much about.

"Oh, my boyfriend saw it at the wedding, which I was not invited to by the way." I could tell that her tone was only half joking towards the end, but that wasn't the part I was concerned about.

"At my wedding? Who's your boyfriend?" I asked.

But then, as if on cue, the bedroom door opens.

I turn my head to see and have to hold in a loud groan.

Of course.