Work Text:
Read 8/11/16.
Nothing. Not even a reply. Just a simple read.
It’d been almost a month since they talked, just shy of Michael’s 19th birthday, and just half a year since he’d moved away. He didn’t know how they’d drifted away so quickly. He thought about the last time they’d seen each other face-to-face.
“See you later, I guess,” Michael whispered, shoving a hastily gift-wrapped rectangle into Jeremy’s arms. “Don’t open that until you get to Florida,” he said, a small smile plastered onto his face, much like a façade. His hands were hidden in his scarlet hoodie’s pocket, yet it was evident that they were fidgeting and scratching at the material.
“Thanks so much for everything,” Jeremy replied, carefully stacking onto the pile of luggage on the back seat of his father’s car. “I’m— gonna miss you, s-so much.” Jeremy began to tear up, his efforts at mopping up the tears with the sleeves of his blue cardigan in vain, only managing to turn them an even deeper shade.
At this, Michael wrapped an arm around the shaking teen and pulled him close.
Amidst a flurry of sniffles, Michael coughed, “Here— you should take this,” he gestured to a patch on his hoodie that said ‘I’m with stupid’. He’d bought a pair of them from some long forgotten fair for Jeremy years ago, but the boy refused, saying that it was Michael’s money and that there belonged to Michael’s. He still had both.
He ripped the patch off, not caring if it damage would the piece of clothing. It left a bright mark, contrasting the dull reds that surrounded it.
Michael presented the patch to Jeremy with a grin set on his face.
Jeremy’s dad called out, and the starting of an engine rang out in the quiet neighbourhood, shattering the atmosphere of the moment and signalling that it was time to leave. Lethargically, Jeremy clambered inside, ignoring the tears streaming down his face. Jeremy gave a sad smile and a wave, all the while squeezing a fist around the tiny piece of Michael held within it, with the other hand impatiently picking at the edges of his cardigan. He kept waving until his house—and Michael—were all but faint specks in the distance.
He didn’t listen. The moment that Michael was out of sight, he tore the gift open. It was a framed collage of the both of them, displaying every single highlight of their time together, all within a rough oaken frame. It smelled faintly of smoke and deodorant. Jeremy teared up again.
A crash and a yell wrenched Jeremy out of his thoughts. He sighed and looked over. It was his dad. The man had walked into a shelf, knocking down several picture frames in the process.
“Need any help?” Jeremy asked, coming closer to inspect the damage, carefully stepping around stray shards of glass that littered the floor.
“I’m fine,” his father replied as he strained to get up. “I should go clean this mess up. I’ll go get a broom,” he continued as he limped out of the room.
Jeremy nodded, silently reaching down to collect the various picture frames that scattered on the floor, examining each one before stacking them in a pile. He soon came across the very same frame he had received almost a year ago. It wasn’t that long ago since he’d moved, but without Michael, it felt like a lifetime had passed.
The glass cover was totalled. Visible cracks spidered from corner to corner, while the frame had split where the joints met. It was unrecoverable. He shook the glass from its holdings, carefully extracting the photographs that had faded from the months of sun they saw as they sat on their place on the shelf, untouched. Unnoticed.
With all the frames and photographs sorted, he quietly left for his dad to sweep up the shards, with a small stack of photographs stuffed into the pocket of his cobalt-blue cardigan, faded from the hundreds of cycles it had gone through since he’d gotten it. His chest threatened to burst from the wash of emotions escaping from whatever corner in his mind that he’d repressed them in.
Jeremy stumbled into his room — the one place he felt truly at peace — and yet, it felt suffocating to him. He was looking at them. Every single picture. Every great moment of their friendship captured within a series of paper squares. They burned in his hands, their shapes warping from his tightening grasp. He tossed the stack of photographs onto his bed, only half succeeding, with half the stack strewn across the floor. With a groan of frustration, he collected them — again. He felt slightly annoyed at the uneven dimensions of the polaroids that Michael had chosen, and at himself for damaging some of the last pieces he had of their memory. After he was done, he placed the stack on his nightstand — carefully — trying to avoid a repeat of what had taken place moments before.
As he collapsed onto his bed, he reached for his phone. He checked for any notifications, wishing that he had someone to talk to, before succumbing to the bed’s warmth and falling into a deep sleep.
In Jeremy’s new school—when he and Michael would still try to keep contact, he would stay cooped up in the corner of the school’s library, hoping to avoid anyone who would inevitably strike up a conversation and invite him to their lunch table. He liked Michael over all these strangers. They had a connection. He didn’t even know the names of the people around him.
However, the more he thought about it, the more he realised that his unwillingness to let go of Michael had prevented him from making any new meaningful friendships.
On the other hand, Michael, who seemed to be free from Jeremy, responded less and less to his messages, citing reasons like “Oh yeah, sorry, Will wanted me to hang out at the mall earlier,” and “Hey! Sorry for the late reply, my girlfriend and I were out watching a movie.” Jeremy didn’t know who any of these people were.
It left a sour taste in his mouth.
Just as he was about to spiral down another tunnel of anxiety, the world around Jeremy began to shake. It began to rumble. Louder, and louder.
He awoke with a start. His phone was ringing under his pillow. Its sound was dulled, but its vibrations were magnified. He reached out and grabbed at it, his heart raced in his chest. A small part of his mind cried out, Maybe it’s him!
But it wasn’t.
It was just another alarm. A reminder for some project long forgotten. A reminder that Michael had really forgotten him, and that he himself was a sentimental fool couldn’t, no, wouldn’t let go.
He squinted up at his phone, scrolling back to their conversations, hoping that they would show him what he did wrong. Instead, all he got was a history of pleasantries, nothing deep, or anything that would indicate that they were anything but acquaintances. He stared at Michael’s contact, silently asking the icon of the grinning teen in the corner where they went wrong.
However, as he looked closely, Michael’s profile picture—a picture which used to be a portrait of the two of them at some arcade—was different. It wasn’t them anymore. It was a group photo filled with people he didn’t recognise.
He was replaced. Forgotten. He didn’t matter anymore. He was just another face on the street. A stranger.
A small part of him wanted to block Michael just out of spite. For seemingly betraying him and their friendship.
He couldn’t do it. Every time he approached the button, fresh memories would resurface, reminding him of their time together.
Instead, he let go. He resigned himself from their history just as Michael had months ago. He let go of the anger. He let his emotions dissipate until he felt numb.
There’s a second option, Jeremy thought to himself as he navigated to the ‘remove contact’ option. It was bound to happen sooner or later, he continue, Might as well let go now before I kill any chances of making new friends here.
Tap.
It was done.
Jeremy breathed out a puff of air he didn’t even know he was holding. He felt at peace. He was liberated. He was free to do his own thing. He was free to meet new people.
On the other side, thousands of miles away, a long-ignored contact was replaced by a question mark.
No sooner had Jeremy done that, he received an alert. It was a message from a guy from school.
"Hey Jeremy! You’re the guy who hangs out in the back of the library right?? We’re planning to head to the mall to catch a movie, like right now. Wanna come with???” -Rich
Jeremy hesitantly smiled to himself before typing out a simple; “ Yeah sure that’d be great! I’ll meet you guys there!’
His thoughts turned once again to Michael.
Maybe we’ll meet again, someday,
he mused to himself as he shrugged on his emerald-green bag onto his back as he prepared to leave. On the strap was a roughly stitched on patch on that said ‘I’m with stupid’.