the boys next door.

i want to tell you about how last weekend, i walked onto the patio. they’re upstairs and to the right. get a swimsuit, he yelled down, we’re going to the lake and you’re going with us. i want to tell you about how it felt to sit in the sun, how the water was the perfect kind of cool when he splashed me, how sometimes, sharing mountain dew and barbeque potato chips with friends is the closest you’ll get to heaven on a saturday afternoon. it’s been awhile since i’ve had boys like this for friends. it’s not about sex. they just want to talk and take me with them on small adventures. our boat made waves, we laughed at suprising two naked sunbathers, we couldn’t stop smiling. they nicknamed me captain morgan. i want to tell you all these details, the wind against my face, how he bought me sunscreen at walmart so i wouldn’t burn, the comfort of this kind of friendship existing in something stronger than memory.

andy is a golden boy, looking like he’s gotten everything he’s ever wanted, just because of that smile, that attitude. like he could captivate almost anyone. he tells me i’m too nice, and means it. jesse is sweet, torn between two girls, willing to listen and willing to talk. we trade heartache stories, histories, and theories on tomorrow. he smiles with his eyes. we both grew up too fast. kim is the quietest. he’s the one with the piercings, the ink in his skin, and we talk pain, talk art. yesterday morning, i was sweeping the patio when he walked by. good morning morgan, he said, and god, sometimes it just feels so good to hear my name on someone else’s tongue. the syllables rolling around their mouth and coming out, my name. my name, my name, my name.

saturday night, we play pool. i sneak sips of jesse’s jack and coke and laugh when he sings along with the jukebox, eyes shut and unselfconcious. aaron and i share a beer and a pool stick, playing on the same team, even winning once or twice. later, some of us head to the dive bar down the road. eric meets us. there’s more pools, too many shots, and karaoke. they bring me slices of lemon for lemon drops, and kim tells me i’m going to keep drinking until i sing. aaron sings country, jesse too, and someone signs me up to sing britney spears. i’m too drunk to object, and have fun, batting my eyelashes and shaking my hips.

there’s talk of a houseboat party this weekend, of a barbeque for my birthday in may. they tease me for reading too much, for being too smart, for being too sweet. i tease back, and realize how much i missed this- maybe we don’t have so much in common, but we know how to smile and laugh and talk. we know how to have fun and it feels right.

i’m not so good at making friends these days, so i thank god for this, for them, for saturday afternoons and saturday nights.