by A. Brown

Love is the one thing every human has in common. We give it. We receive it. We search for it relentlessly and hold on like the devil when we’ve finally found it. People are simply happiest when they are in love — real, honest to God, steadfast, never going to hurt you, till’ death do us part, best friends for ever and always — love.

“You're just kids. You don’t know what love really is.” That’s what the adults say.

Only, here’s what I think about that. I think kids know how to love better than adults. Unlike them, we still have innocent love. Love that has never been tapped or betrayed. We aren’t afraid to love with our whole hearts. I think the reason adults have trouble loving is because their arteries keep getting clogged and it’s preventing the maximum amount of love to enter or leave it. When my future husband and I have blue hair I’ll get him an angioplasty on Valentine’s Day instead of chocolate.

We are taught from the very beginning to love. I thought love was the meaning of life itself. After all, our entire existence revolves around its presence and capture. Of course, as is the case with all things, it is easy to believe in all of that stuff while you have it; while your friends are your friends and the thought never occurred to you it could be any other way. Any other way than the comfort of perfection. Oh yes, perfection … it exists. I was friends with perfection.

I had two best friends. Short Brian and Tall Brian. Two perfect best friends. Me? I was just lucky to be there with them. Together they were a comedy duo. Separate, a self proclaimed genius and a dare devil pyromaniac. I barely fit in. I was the last piece of this beautiful puzzle that had to be carefully maneuvered and jammed into place to make fit. A funny picture we made — resembling nothing like the example on the box. We were an awkward group but the puzzle would be unfinished without me. This is the part where I learn what friendship and love really means.

Short Brian let me squeeze his hand as hard as I wanted when I was scared my lungs wouldn’t ever let me breathe again. Tall Brian surprised me with a bouquet of delicate purple flowers after performing in my first show — even though I was just the rear end of a dancing camel. Short Brian called me worried and crying about his parents — I couldn’t give him pretty words to make his heart stop hurting but I could give him my ears for 3 hours, so I did. I took Tall Brian to Homecoming — even after Andrew, my boy of interest at the time, had asked me to be his date. I wouldn’t have done that for anyone before them. These two crazy kids with the same name interrupted my entire life and shook me awake. Without them I would have gotten more sleep, dated Andrew, and kept living my life without any sense of purpose or accountability. I would have stayed awake for an entire week if I could benefit them even a little. Because that’s what you’re supposed to do for your friends. Actually, that’s not really true. You aren’t obligated to do anything, you just want to. Because you are happiest when they are happiest. That’s what this whole love thing is all about.

12 days. We spent 12 consecutive days together last summer. Mostly, we laughed so hard it was all I could do to keep from peeing my pants. Other days, it was a little different. Indecisiveness plagued us.

“What do you want to do?”

“I don’t know what do you want to do?”

On one of our more — cliché days — we loaded into Tall Brian’s muddy Cherokee. The gray Jeep, brown with sticky mud, flew over miles of unknown road that imitated the straight curves of taffy being pulled. We knew where we were going about as much as we knew how to get there. Not-so-fresh out of the hospital, I laid in the backseat. I didn’t care where we were as long as I could stretch my legs across the width of the velvety cushion and listen to them run their wild ideas past each other and discuss cars of the future. With them, everyday, even the dead ones, was like receiving one of those giant cakes with a midget baked inside that pops out as soon as you blow out the candles and even though you know it’s there it still surprises you a little and you don’t want to admit it but you secretly enjoyed it.

The steely clouds glared at us through the windshield. The black tendrils swirled across the sky in a jealous rage to suffocate the last of the smooth blue sky. I glared back into the clouds until the first droplet danced down the window. The first droplet charged toward my window, giving courage to the rest to follow suit. The rain attacked with the force of a thousand wrecking balls. The windshield wipers fought back frantically, but failed miserably. It was over as quickly as it had started.

The green tree leaves and shine of the sun paled in comparison to the vivid arc of color that painted the sky. The seven ribbons melted into one another as the jeep slowed to a stop and we stepped onto the worm covered pavement to look. I didn’t want to take the image out of my eyes, so I stopped blinking. The boys whipped out their camera phones and attempted to capture the perfection — the arc too big to fit into one frame.

I didn’t want to see it fade, so we drove away before it collapsed.

Short Brian told me, “You’ll change when you get to college too. You just don’t understand.” He repeated those last 4 words over and over until they sounded foreign and no longer translated in my head. He might as well have just squawked and pleaded for a cracker. I understand things are different. I understand that. It’s the why part that has me; and he couldn’t offer more than “because” for an explanation. It made as much sense to me as calculus — which Short Brian tutored me in and explained so well I got a D- in the class.

Tall Brian told me, “It’s not your fault. You’ve done too much. People change.” He was a machine; every argument I offered was a quarter buying a new cliché. He killed me. How can I take this kid seriously when he’s talking like a tall fortune cookie? He presented his words like a dog presenting a dead mouse to his owner — I praised him for his kindness and thanked him for his wisdom and tossed the mouse out the window.

My duo broke up and I had nothing to rely on. My entire foundation for life, which they helped me build, was the belief love always wins, and they killed it. They changed, and I crumbled. I didn’t even have Short Brian to hold my hand when my lungs were holding my breath hostage. I always wondered why the philosophers were confused about the meaning of life, after all I figured it out, how could they have not realized? Only, now I know, it isn’t that easy. Love is hard.