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His words stung me worse than anything anyone had ever said to me before. Maybe it’s because he triggered some deep, subconscious fear—a fear that people would only see me as a one-note jock and nothing more. And the words came from Ryan Caulfield, my best friend.
A chorus of reactions hummed over all the lunch tables that surrounded us. I didn’t realize we’d had the attention of half the cafeteria until that moment. Everyone was watching.
“I’m done with games,” he went on. “I want to do something good with my life. Worthwhile.”
My voice was low, almost a whisper. “I can’t believe you just said that to me.”
Ryan scoffed suddenly, as if annoyed that I could possibly take offense to his harsh words. “You didn’t notice that I was benched half of last season? Too busy soaking up the spotlight, Stefan? Too busy to notice that your ‘best bro’ is, in fact, not out there on that field with you most of the time?”
“I wasn’t soaking up any spotlight.”
“I’m wasting all of my time. I’ve wasted all of my time. I could have been joining science clubs like my sister did, or been doing a sport I’m better at, or taking drama, or anything other than balls and bats and bases. I’m stuck at first base and have been for a long time, if you ever bothered to notice.”
“Fuck you, Caulfield.”
The room hummed again with scandal. I regretted the words, even if it was just a throwaway expletive to shut him up, even if we’d said those words a hundred times before in the context of teasing one another during our video game sleepovers. I hated how everyone reacted to it instantly, as if their murmurs of shock confirmed that our friendship was about to end.
I should have held my tongue. But something drove me that day, something deep and furious and sinister. “That’s all you think I am?” I fought back. “A guy who does ‘one thing’ …? A dumb jock? Is this what you’ve always thought of me?”
“Stefan …”
“Games??” I pressed on, infuriated. I even took a step toward him, and he took a step back. “You know as well as I do, those are more than just games we play out there. Baseball is more than just a thing we do. It’s my life. And it’s yours, too, if you’d quit being such a little bitch, giving up like this.”
The saddest look spread across his face. He was in anguish, and I had no idea why. Just a day ago, we were playing catch after our classes in the field by the natatorium. Now, he was acting like he didn’t even know me. All of that closeness and trust between us that I had always taken for granted evaporated like it was never there. We were two strangers to each other that day.
“I’m not giving up,” he finally said, then looked up to meet my eyes. All I saw in those eyes was coldness. “I’m moving on.”
Then he turned and walked away. Just like that.
I wouldn’t have it. “Caulfield,” I called out, my fingers curling into fists as I fumed within. “Caulfield,” I tried again, pained. Still, he didn’t stop walking away. “RYAN!” I belted out. “If you walk away from me—from this—our friendship is over!”
He didn’t come back. All around us, students went back to eating mashed potatoes and fried chicken and dried-out bread rolls. Trays started clacking together again and voices rose as conversations broke out or resumed wherever they had left off before our big, dramatic confrontation.
And I remained standing there staring after my best friend, wondering what the hell I had done wrong.
And here I am now, sitting at a hotel bar staring at a drink I ordered and haven’t touched, wondering what the hell I’ve done wrong.
Are we always doomed to just self-destruct, the pair of us?
I guess it isn’t so farfetched an idea. Our friendship began with a fight in the boy’s bathroom, after all. I’d like to say that means we have a lot of passion between us.
Or unspoken animosity.
Aggression.
Rivalry.
I don’t even know anymore.
If that really is passion we have, then it’s the sort that can burn down a house. And that shit’s scary.
I pull out my phone and set it next to my glass. No calls or texts from him all weekend. Nothing.
This reminds me too much of when I got home after that fight in the cafeteria and stared at my phone, wondering if Ryan would call me. I was certain he would. Surely he couldn’t just throw away our friendship like that. It meant more to both of us, I knew it.
But he never called then. And hasn’t called now.
Worse, I never called him either. I could have manned up and did the reaching out. Wasn’t I the one he always looked up to? Wasn’t I who he looked to for answers, for guidance, and for confidence? Maybe all I was ever successful in doing was letting him down.
