There’s an IHOP off I-40
that makes me smile when I see it.
It reminds me of a run-down diner: “International **,”
red lights half burnt out,
a rainy night in Waukegan when you got the Mike’s
and I started drinking in the passenger’s seat
on the car ride back.

It’s my favorite story, the one I always tell.
Ridiculous, stupid, all the mistakes that I still pay for
when we broke our own rules.

The night passed in a haze of cranberry and lemon,
the Mike’s Harder spilling out onto pavement because
we both thought it was truly disgusting.
And you bought me snacks from the vending machine
in the lobby of your dorm.
I sat on the floor beside it,
giggling because you bought me something just ‘cause
I gasped when I saw it.
You tried to jam a Rice Krispy Treat into my mouth to make me eat something,
but I couldn’t stop laughing.

It’s euphoric, letting go of your troubles with your
best friend at your side.
It was one of the last big moments of You and I.

That’s not the part of the story I usually tell, though.
The real peak was the next morning
when I discovered I had blacked out –
the first and only time –
and my roommate woke to see me
vomiting gracelessly into the trashcan.
My breakfast was mostly blue Gatorade.

The tragic twist in this story wasn’t the
endless nausea, the stale taste in my mouth,
but my haircut appointment in the afternoon.
I could’ve walked to the train, but
you gave me a ride down the mercilessly
winding roads of Highland Park.
You told me I didn’t look so good, and I smile
when I remember how nervous you sounded
thinking I was going to ***** in your car.
I didn’t even make it out of my seat;
I was bent, elbow over knee,
depositing that blue Gatorade onto the pavement
of an apartment complex
while a military family and their dog passed by.

That’s my favorite story.
The one where we were just us, partners in crime,
making mistakes that brought enough laughter
to last us a lifetime.

There are many more, but that’s the last one I have,
the one before our friendship was eroded
by an unidentified toxin that stripped our bonds away.

I laugh, and I smile,
because they’re my memories too.
I just wish they were more than
memories of you.