Drama class, the class we share. We never speak. Rather, she never speaks to me, even when she wasn't, you know, breaking people.
I've been called up to perform in a theater game with none other than my current squeeze if you will. I am nervous, so I swear, first at the person that decided I should go, then at myself, and then I sit on the stage looking around for distractions. And I find her.
She's lying on her stomach, a foot or so away from me. I wave to her and ask her how she is. She smiles; she's relaxed, and for a moment I think this whole breakup with my friend has not affected her at all. I ask her how she is, and she smiles wide.
"I'm fine. Oh man, Josh is giving me the best massage."
I look back, and sure enough, a boy from class is rubbing her leg. He looks up with a typically dramatic predatorial smile, and I laugh. She looks back and laughs too, then turns to me again.
"That could just be because I drank this morning, though."
She smiles, laughs again, and the smile I am wearing is now plastered to my face because, honestly, what the fuck do you say to something like that?
"Three shots of brandy before school. Oh man."
I shake my head, still smiling, and repeat her name in a mildly disapproving tone.
"I don't really like brandy. Only cause it was the only thing around."
I nod, here is where we are similar.
"That's why I drink whiskey. Not because I really like it, just cause, you know."
We proceed to have a brief discussion about alcohol, and all the while I am thinking, Why are you telling me this? Why do these things always end up coming out with me? Do I have therapist tatooed on my forehead?
The teacher calls us up to listen to our objectives so we can perform the improv, where the object of my affection teaches me random ass dance moves in an elevator, and I get to say random ass things like "The greatest thing is just to love, and be loved in return."
It doesn't hit me until later how ironic this is, on more than one level.