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The hallways still smelled the same. That school hallway smell, you know— the stale smell of hormonal body odor and PVA glue and cold lunch. Dylan thought he was going to be sick. Like, actually needing to put his hand against the wall and bend over, kind of feeling sick.
He didn’t know why he came here. It wasn’t like he was nostalgic. It was just that his brother got this Facebook message, “Hey, remember me?” (Dylan didn’t have Facebook. His brother emailed him the screenshot.) “Do you think you could let your brother Dylan know we’re having a 10 yr reunion for the Columbine class of 99? No pressure of course, but it would be super cool to see him there! :]” (The accompanying body text from Byron: “Didn’t look like your scene but letting you know anyways haha.”)
“It would be super cool to see him there!” From a girl who would never even look in Dylan’s direction when they were in school. It wasn’t Dylan’s scene. He hated that kind of stuff. What was he trying to prove, that he was, like… adjusted now? Like, hey guys, remember me, the guy you used to throw tampons and shit, like literal shit, at? Yeah, that didn’t make me kill myself. I guess. Yeah.
“Are you okay?” Someone was asking him if he was okay. He hated that. He hated that.
“Yeah,” he said. “Yeah.” He narrowed his eyes at her. Someone he didn’t recognize.
He breathed through his mouth until he no longer felt the immediate need to throw up, then began to make his way through the small crowd milling into the gymnasium. He didn’t recognize most of the faces, but some of them were unchanged since seventeen. In a bad way, probably. He slapped on a name tag that said Hello! My name is Dylan K and started eating deviled eggs straight off the buffet table. He heard voices fawning over each other, “Oh my God, it’s been forever!”, “So, you’re a lawyer now, oh my God!”, “That’s your wife? Oh my God!” Giggling at old jokes and “remember when”s. Oh my God! Oh my God!
This was all so pointless. He should never have come.
He was just drinking another cup of punch and debating if he should leave, because after all, he was an adult— this place was making him forget that— when he felt a tap at his shoulder. He nearly dropped his plastic cup.
“Hey!”
“Oh my God!” Oh my God.
“Scared you, huh, Vodka?”
“Oh my God,” Dylan coughed up the juice he was choking on. “Dude, Jesus. Okay, first of all, don’t call me that.”
“Not for old times’ sake?” Eric was smiling stupidly up at Dylan. He looked the same as he did every day before graduation day. Stupid, for one. Deathly skinny, too big t-shirt and a flannel over it, military cropped hair. All he needed was the trench coat. Fuck, Dylan had almost forgotten about that. Where was his? Donated it, he guessed.
“Whatever, dude.”
Eric mocked punching his shoulder in slo-mo. “Kachow.”
“Come on.”
“What!”
“You haven’t changed at all.”
“Fuck that. Fuck change. Why should I change?”
Dylan shrugged. But they fell into rhythm walking alongside each other, talking to each other in the corner of the gym, real old times.
“I didn’t expect to see you here,” Eric said.
“Me neither. I mean, you or me.”
“Yeah. Why’d you come?”
“Bored? I dunno.”
“Same here.”
They lapsed into silence, looking at their shoes, until Dylan asked, “Do you wanna smoke a joint?”
Eric frowned, then smiled and shrugged. “Sure.”
They went out through the back exit, same as when they used to ditch PE, crossed the staff parking, and sat on the bleachers alongside the tennis courts. Dylan took out his tin of rolls, chewed the end a bit, didn’t even have to ask Eric to cup his hands over the lighter. The first inhale hit like a truck, but it was probably less the weed and more the fresh air.
“Dude,” Dylan passed the joint. “The feeling back there was so crazy. I got, like, PTSD flashbacks.”
“For fuckin’ real, man.” Eric put it to his lips for no more than half a second before coughing up a loogie (he swallowed it) and handing it back.
“Forgot you don’t smoke. I mean, still?”
“Nah.”
“Good habit, I guess.”
“Yeah.”
“Yeah.” A beat. “You’re really the same as when we were in school.”
“Yup. Barely left Jefferson County.”
Dylan looked out over the courts and the parking lots and the neighborhoods further over, everything that was the same but different now, and then glanced over at Eric, everything about him that was the same but different now. He wondered what they used to talk about for hours, how easy it was, to lose time with him, and now at 27, it all seemed trivial and immature.
“V.”
“Huh?”
“Where’d you go?”
Dylan blinked hard and shook his head. “I was remembering stuff. I told you not to call me that.”
“Remembering what? Your romantic senior prom night?”
“Shut the fuck up, dude.” Dylan drew his knees up. “I was thinking about, like, how it’s crazy. Like, we thought it was all over in high school, but we lived our whole fucking lives, you know. I mean, we thought it was forever. Everything. Like. I don’t know. You know?”
“I guess. Lemme hit that again.”
Dylan passed it. “I just felt like everything in existence was, like, my experience. Like, a cycle. School was purgatory. Kind of. You know? I was stuck. But now I’m out. And now I’m back again, but from free will.”
Eric exhaled smoke. “Yeah. Okay. Uh, you work in computers, right?”
“Yeah, web development.”
“Yeah. That’s super legit. And I got sent to jail. Did you hear?”
Dylan heard about that. Assault and battery.
“And I tried to join the military, I mean, before getting in trouble, but I failed the physical. And the psych. So. So much for getting out.”
“It’s just different, I dunno. Like, we’re different.”
“Maybe.”
“Can I have that back?”
Eric obliged.
“I dunno, I don’t think we were that different,” he said after a few moments. “Like, we used to hang out all the time.”
“But it’s been ten years, dude. That’s crazy, I haven’t seen you since, I dunno? Summer before sophomore year of college?”
“Yeah. Jesus fuckin’ Christ, huh. I guess I thought we’d be friends forever. That’s so fuckin’ gay.”
Dylan snorted. “Yeah, it is. I mean, we had other friends too.”
“Not really. I guess you did.”
“Bro, c’mon, you had a whole ass girlfriend.”
“Ugh. Whatever. I hate reminiscing on shit. It’s over.”
Dylan took one last puff before sniffing out the joint and putting it back in his tin. “I didn't realize you’d get so sensitive about it.”
“I’m not being sensitive.” Eric rolled his eyes. “You’re the one talking about how high school was a cycle of purgatory or some shit.”
“I’m talking about, like, reality, you know? It’s like you’re in that old reality, but we were just edgy fucking assholes.” Dylan stuck his overly long leg back out in front of him. “No offense.”
Eric laughed. More of a harsh exhale. “Edgy fucking assholes. That’s pretty fucking accurate.”
“Remember when we hijacked that van?”
“Oh my fucking God.”
“You were a bad influence, dude. My parents were right about you.”
“More like my parents were right about you.”
They snicker about that for a bit. Asshole kid games. Getting drunk in the woods with Eric and not giving a shit about tomorrow so why not fuck around now, type of asshole shit. It was fun in the moment, but it always made Dylan cringe afterwards, even back then. His parents were right about Eric. That kid Eric, always wants to hang out with you. Always calls. Probably shouldn’t be around that kind of guy. Dylan would’ve shrugged back then. I don’t know, I feel kinda bad for him.
“Jesus,” Dylan sighed. “Why did we have to do all that? Like, for attention?”
“I dunno, fun? Because we could?”
“We had mad fucking issues.”
“Remember when my dad found all our pipe bomb shit? And our parents said we couldn’t hang out, like we were going to jail for real.”
“Issues, dude.”
“And we were so pissed off and we said we’d blow the school up.”
Dylan blew out a heavy breath and whistled. “Jesus, and we were serious.”
“Yeah. Maybe we should’ve done it.”
“Dude, but no. Seriously. That was insane. Like, who thinks of that?”
“Killing their classmates? Everyone, probably. And we earned it.”
“Well, yeah. But wow. That was heavy shit.”
“Imagine if we went through with it.”
Dylan didn’t want to.
“Heavy shit,” Eric echoed.
“I’m fucking glad we didn’t.” Dylan mimed holding a gun to Eric’s face. “Kablamo. Boom.”
Eric lightly knocked his hand. “Yeah. Right.”
“NBK,” Dylan said in a whispery, mystical voice, flourishing his hands.
“You hated calling it that.”
“I did? I don’t remember.”
“Yeah. You did.”
“That was my favorite movie.”
“I know. And Lost Highway.”
“Oh yeah.”
“You’re right. That old shit was too fuckin’ much.” Eric stood and brushed off his ass and hopped back down onto the gravel. “I’m gonna head back in, I’m freezing my ass off. Maybe I’ll go home.”
Dylan turned to face him. “Really?”
Eric wasn’t looking at him and he wasn’t moving. “Yeah. You know,” he looked at the sky which was turning orange and purple and blue and he looked at the school they wanted to blow up ten years ago and he didn’t look at Dylan. “I was going to tell you something. I don’t know if I can.”
“What d’you mean?”
“Like, I don’t know if I can manage it.”
“I hate when people do that shit. Being like, nevermind I’m not gonna tell you.”
He sniffed and rubbed his nose loudly. “It’s just, like. That I really fucking liked you man.”
“Thanks, I think? I liked you too.”
“I mean, I really liked you. Like, I liked you so much I couldn’t deal with it. I liked you so much I thought I couldn’t go to school because I’d have to see you, and then I’d end up going to school every day just to see you. And, like, I just felt, like, you… got stuff. More than anyone. And I never… I don’t know. I would see you every day and talk to you and we’d hang out and do our stupid little shit and I was always thinking, he just doesn’t even know.”
Dylan didn’t say anything about that. He wanted to say a joke, and maybe use the word faggot in it, but he couldn’t think of one. And he didn’t think it was right.
“Yeah.” Eric was still looking somewhere else. Dylan was too. “I know you’re thinking like, oh my God, I can’t believe Eric was a secret fag this whole time. I guess so. But I never ever was into dudes or anything. All those times I talked about girls I wanted to fuck, I wasn’t, like, lying. I still wanted to fuck those girls. And it’s not like I wanted to fuck you or anything. No way. It’s just that I’ve never felt about anyone the way I felt about you. It’s been ten fuckin’ years and I never,” he made a sound that Dylan thought was laughing, maybe. “Yeah. And I get that it’s fucked, but I wish we actually did it. I wish I died. I wish I shot myself in the head when I was 17 because that’s the last time I had the guts because I knew you were right behind me and whenever I was with you it was like that was it and there was no coming back. But, yeah. That’s what I was going to say.”
Dylan searched for the words. How did Eric want him to respond to that? Like, what was he supposed to say to that undying love confession or whatever the fuck that was? Did that mean everytime Eric had a long rant about hating fags, it was some kind of compensation? In retrospect, it should’ve been obvious then. Did that mean everytime they were together, Eric was actually thinking about getting in Dylan’s pants? The idea felt like a betrayal.
“You don’t have to say anything.”
“That’s fucking crazy, dude.”
Their words ran out their mouths at the same time. Eric coughed.
“That’s crazy,” Dylan repeated. “I did not realize. Jesus Christ.”
“Don’t, like, make it a whole thing.”
“You made it a whole thing. Like, wow. That was a lot of information. I mean, thanks, I guess?”
“Don’t make it fucking weird.”
“It’s kinda weird.”
“Weird was you and your goddamn fucking Halcyon Girl every day,” Eric sniped, finally turning around, and Dylan could see his nose was red and he was trying not to cry.
“Dude, what? So the whole time you were, like, jealous? What the fuck?”
“Jealous?!” Eric sputtered. “I was never jealous, what the fuck? I just don’t know what a fucking halcyon even is!”
“It’s a fucking bird, retard!” Dylan sat down as soon as he realized he had stood up. “Fuck. I’m sorry, man.”
“It’s fine.” Eric wiped his mouth. “And that makes no fucking sense, by the way.”
Dylan stood again and went down the bleachers, staring at his feet while they banged oafishly down the metal steps. “I seriously didn’t know. Seriously.”
“It’s so fucking stupid, I just hated everything so bad. I hated everything so bad and the only thing I cared about was that stupid Reb and Vodka shit and I thought I’d get over it one day and become normal, but I never did.” He put his face in his hands and leaned his forehead against the metal frame and looked like a kid in timeout. “I really didn’t. Everything is still so fucking stupid and pointless except for you, man, I seriously— I loved you so much, dude, Dylan, I really love you.”
Dylan hesitated when he got near Eric, then reached out and patted his back only with the tips of his fingers. “Okay, man. I loved you too. Seriously. We were good friends. It was fun.”
“Yeah.”
He attempted another, more heartfelt pat, but he missed despite Eric being less than a foot away, and he didn’t want to try for a third. The group in the gymnasium seemed more unappetizing than ever, so Dylan decided on walking the long way around the outside perimeter instead of crossing through the school to get to the front. They’d still be in there for a few more hours, Dylan imagined, until the sun went down completely and all the deviled eggs were gone. Talking about pointless things in their pointless lives. He almost took away those lives. Him and Eric. They almost did it. That’s how easy it was. No, he shook the thought out. They wouldn’t have done it. It was a joke they were taking a little bit too far. But they wouldn’t have actually done it. But it would be so easy. And so pointless. These people were nothing to him dead or alive. It would all be the same, from a matter of perspective. Eric was nothing too.
By the time he got to his car, he was feeling a bit surreal, and had to sit at the wheel with the door open for a few seconds. The drive was one of those drives when you blink and it turns out you’ve taken yourself the whole way home, and it was probably the most flawless, well practiced and perfectly legal drive you’ve ever executed while you could hardly be counted as conscious. He drove four and a half hours like that, to Nebraska, to the house he was renting since last year, which was practically empty since his ex-girlfriend moved out, and he went to bed.
And for a few days, he went to work, and idly scrolled the news on his monitor, half-looking out for any small subsection that read: “28 year old Jefferson County man found dead from apparent suicide”. He wasn’t really sure why he thought Eric might shoot himself. Because he deserved it, Dylan guessed. He kept this up for a number of days, because Eric seemed like the kind of guy who would decompose in his own home for a couple days before being found, and he’d do good at work and go home and eat something plain and go to bed. Nothing ever did happen to Eric, unless it did, Dylan stopped checking. Sometimes Dylan would take his morning handful of antipsychotics and SSRIS and wonder if Eric was also out there still taking his Luvox or Zoloft or whatever, it used to really help him. And other times he didn’t think about Eric at all. He tried his very best not to.
And one time, only the one time, he went to his therapist and he said, “Did I ever tell you about my friend from high school? Eric. Well, nevermind then. It’s not that important.”