In my house
It smells like burning nachos
Like pico de gallo left to rot
And beans too long on the stove.

I stand in the doorway
Keys in one hand, doorknob in the other.
It's snowing outside, and I'd forgotten
That I'd asked you over that afternoon,
Just to talk.
Maybe watch TV.

For three and a half years now, we've been best friends.
But there was a different time,
When we didn't talk to each other,
When we let teenage angst and hatred seethe
Between us like some dark and twisted monster.

There are different kinds of anger.
I was mad at you because in the summer
Between seventh and eighth grade, you flaked on me
For those other girls, the ones who wore bikinis
And whose dads had speedboats and sports cars,
Whose boyfriends were in high school,
Who wore black eyeliner and gossiped all the time.
I was mad because you changed yourself for them.
I thought that that was why you were avoiding me.

Today you told me
You were mad at me
Because we liked the same boy.
You said you thought I resented you for it.

I laughed.
This is why we have these talks -
So that, looking back on our junior high selves,
We can make fun of what idiots we are.