Sometimes, in
cartoons, the artist likes to use an ellipsis to portray an awkward encounter.
You know, that little “dot, dot, dot” thing? Cartoonists will leave it hanging in
the middle of a panel, with no speech bubble or narration box or anything. It emphasizes
the silence—it makes it louder, more awkward or tense, et cetera.
If my life were a cartoon—which, sometimes,
I swear it is, because it is just so
ridiculous—there would be one big, fat ellipsis staring me in the face right
now. Like, I can practically see it.
In my entire life, I don’t think I’ve ever encountered such an awkward silence
in my life.
And all I said was, “Hi.”
Okay, back up. How do I explain this
as briefly and as clearly as possible? Long story short: I had a best friend.
Once. Past tense. But we were pretty good—I dare say amazing, together. We had
the telepathy thing going on, the whole shebang. You wanted gross fast food at
2:30 in the morning? You had someone to drive you there, without question.
And then I, the genius I am, decided
to move away. I chose a different school a million miles away, and suddenly,
that was that. No more telepathy. No more late night take out. No more 3 AM
emergency phone calls.
Nothing.
I’ve long since acknowledged that
what happened was my fault. I picked the school over him. I chose studying over
him. I chose my new friends over him. And eventually, I became his second
choice, too.
Fast forward to now—I’m a college
graduate. I’m back in my hometown, if only for the summer. And there he is—four
years older, but still just the same.
He says hi.
I say hi.
Dot.
Dot.
Dot.
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