Every Last Word

by Tamara Ireland Stone

And we talk, you know? Really talk about things.” I shift in my chair, squeeze my putty into a tight ball. “The Eights and I used to talk like that, but we haven’t in a long time. It feels kind of…strange to have a friend like that again.” “But good strange.”

jealousy. She had all that? I’m sad for her, but I can’t help but feel a little bit sad for myself, too. I want that. She lost it, but at least she had it.

“Sometimes there’s a whole side of your personality you don’t always show everyone, you know?” I glance down at the odometer. It’s on seven. “I’ve been thinking about that a lot lately.”

“You’re missing the point, Sam. These are all good things, all normal things. And rather than enjoying them, you find a way to twist them into something toxic.”

read a poem about unreliable friends, people you love and feel bonded to but can never truly trust. It was about feeling alone and vulnerable, and never being able to fully let your guard down. When I read it, my voice was clear and loud and direct, and I’ve never felt more confident on that stage, but I’ve never felt more exposed either. Everyone clapped and I slapped the paper on the wall, officially giving myself another contribution to Poet’s Corner. And it felt good. Really good.

“I didn’t go there looking for you. I went looking for me.” My voice is soft, low, and shaky. “But now, here you are, and somehow, in finding you, I think I’ve found myself.”

Before I can open my eyes, I feel him rest his forehead against mine, and his hands slide around my back as he brushes his lips lightly against mine, kissing me like I just said the right thing, not the wrong thing. And this kiss…God, this kiss is soft and warm and perfect, and I part my lips as my fingers find the back of his neck. He tastes like spearmint, and his skin smells like chlorine, and I kiss him, remembering all the times I pictured Brandon doing this, and how those moments never ended well. I trail my fingers along his skin. He feels real. I let my hands wander up to his damp hair. That feels real too.

“I like you too much.” He kisses me again, harder this time. “Good,” he whispers. “I like you too much, too.”

“Really. We’re just…different, Sam. In every way that matters.”

It was about opening your mind, lowering your walls, and finding friendship where you least expect it.

said, “Everyone’s got something. Some people are just better actors than others.”

He tips his head down and kisses me, and my lips part for him like they always do. I’ll never get enough of this. I’ll never get tired of kissing him.

I’m surprised I have any tears left, but sure enough, they start falling again.

“Alliteration is alarmingly addictive.”

“I miss her. A lot. Every day.” The lump in my throat swells and I can feel my eyes welling up. I don’t want to cry.

I want to write a poem for her, something that expresses how sorry I am and tells her how much her friendship means to me, but the words aren’t coming today.