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I decided to print as much of our conversations out as I could. I wouldn’t consider myself crafty…at all. A three-hole punch and a black binder was about as fancy as I got trying to make this tangible keepsake of our friendship. But for some reason the very last conversation we had didn’t make it into the binder. It’s always been in my car. Maybe I thought it’d help bring him back to me somehow. Or maybe I stuffed the binder to its absolute capacity and there wasn’t room for even one more page. I’ll never know.

What I do know is I’m a glutton for punishment, so on the world’s worst birthday and day ever, why not bask in the misery and add a sprinkle of depression?

“Here goes nothing.” I release a pent-up breath, anticipating the pain. Fully expecting to cry, I brace myself with half-shut eyes, barely giving myself enough of a view to see what I’m doing. The second I catch a glimpse of Rennix’s old screen name I’m a goner. Years’ worth of tears stream down my cheeks and my lips do that obnoxious quivering thing uncontrollably. Anytime we weren’t hanging out in person we used to talk on instant messenger all the time. About anything from gaming, to music, to the random shit that two teenagers would cryptically say to vent about the less-than-stellar families we both came from. Anything and everything.

This conversation, for instance, includes an intense back-and-forth discussion—or rather, dissertation on Rennix’s part—on the proper order to watch Star Wars. His rant only entails the first six movies. That’s all that was out before he… Anyway, the specifics of what happened don’t matter. What does matter is that if he were here, he’d shit himself to know that there is not only another trilogy added to the franchise but about a dozen spin-off shows that have sprouted up since he last watched.

I keep reading, laughing here and there at the randomness of it all, that is until I reach the bottom of the printout.

GaM3b0y90: If you could relive one day of your life, which would you pick?

MaLL_Babe90: Ummm random. I don’t know.

GaM3b0y90: Come on, you must have an idea.

MaLL_Babe90: My mind never stops. Every day is a blur until I get through it.

GaM3b0y90: Okay but I’m sure there’s something you like enough to relive it on repeat or as many times as you could.

MaLL_Babe90: You’re not going to let this go, are you?

GaM3b0y90: Nope.

MaLL_Babe90: Fine.

MaLL_Babe90: A day doesn’t come to mind, but I like where we’re at now.

GaM3b0y90: ?

MaLL_Babe90: Like the times we’re in. Being able to chill, game, listen to music. I like it now but…

GaM3b0y90 has signed off

“But what?” I frantically flip the page over as if it’s going to magically change from what I know it to be.

I never finished my thought. Rennix logged off abruptly. That was it. That was our final conversation ever.

I’m so caught up in rereading the same few lines over again that I forgot I still had the cigarette in my hand. It teeters on the paper’s edge and panic ensues not wanting the whole thing to go up in flames. I drop it on the cloth seat, an equally crappy landing spot, but at least it’s not the paper. Not like this hunk of shit going up in flames would be the worst thing. If anything, I’d be putting it out of its misery.

Potential crisis averted, I glance at the time again. Lacey should’ve been here a half hour ago. Unease takes over. I try ignoring it, telling myself she’s on her way and that there must’ve been traffic, but the more I tell myself it’s okay, the more nervous I feel. Flashbacks from the past creep their way into my memory, transporting me mentally to the gymnasium at Catchington High.

The pink fluffy tulle on the bottom half of my dress keeps getting stuck on my watch each time I lift my wrist to check the time, wondering where the hell Rennix is. Unlike me who has always and likely will always run late to things, he was always on time.

I can still hear Green Day’s “Good Riddance” playing while everyone was slow dancing at the harvest dance and feeling a shift in the air. Almost like the song was warning me of something.

Just like then, my phone is in my hand. Of course, back then my phone wasn’t a touch screen computer with the capability of sharing locations like mine is today. It was thin, bright pink, and folded in half. Regardless. I can’t bring myself to use it. I couldn’t do it then, and I can’t do it now.

I could easily go to mine and Lacey’s conversation and click on her contact info to see her location. But all the what-ifs trickling in have me frozen.

What if she crashed and her location shows she is in a pond?

It doesn’t matter that there are no ponds that I know of from her house to Ron’s Burger Shack, my anxiety doesn’t know the difference.

All I know is we had a plan, we set a time, and the time has passed, and I’m here and she isn’t. And irrational as it may be, it feels like I’m losing her brother all over again.

As if the morbid intrusive thoughts weren’t enough, my fist scrunches into a ball. My almond-shaped nails dig into my clammy palms just enough that I begin to feel a slight discomfort that quickly escalates. I don’t let up. I keep squeezing tighter, shouting, “Fuck you. Fuck you for doing this to me today of all fucking days. Seriously? You just had to do this on my birthday? Have you not an ounce of mercy?!”

A knock taps on the driver window and I damn near jump out of my skin.