“Whatever happened to S.?”
“Well…‚” Here it was. Truth, bubbling about beneath the surface of my friends lives for the last few days, and you’re left just wondering why the Fuck they just won’t come out and tell you. “I think she was really bothered by that story you wrote.”
“Bothered by it?”
“I don’t think she liked the way you didn’t capitalize God.”
There’s this face I make. Something along the lines of what the fuck kinda crack you smoking?!? And why the fuck are you being such an idiot?!? It’s a hybrid face, and a good one. My best bet when I have nothing nice to say, like: Who signifies anything with a capitalized letter?!?
I must say, that in these, my formative years, I could be, on occasion, a blithering ass. It was unavoidable. I wasn’t a flake. I was flighty, and idealistic, and entirely seduced by the wonder of life.
I never really listened to her. We’d have these really foolishly obnoxious conversations where we essentially tried to understand what exactly the other one meant when they said south, or next weekend, or ice cream. Communication was terribly non-existent.
Then of course, I stood her up or cancelled on her a couple of times. Sure, that couldn’t have been a good thing. Perhaps the uncapitlaized god was just the last straw.
Eh…
I remember another time, I once cancelled and rescheduled an evening with a girl I was dating something like five times in a row. Eventually, when I would call she would answer with “Oh no you don’t. Don’t do this to me again.” I must admit, the pavlovian response I got from just a phone call rocks. They answer the phone begging and pleading.