I was in our old apartment with my new best friend. It was dark outside, and although no one had knocked, I had the feeling that someone was standing outside the door, waiting for me. I opened the door, and no one was there, but when I leaned my head out and looked further out, I saw you standing there, facing the street; I could see your long hair falling down your back and a suitcase on either side of you. I already knew who you were, so my first question was: were you moving in or moving out?
I recalled that you’d already moved out, so I understood this — the baggage — to mean that you were moving back in.
I was overjoyed. I walked down the stairs, barefoot; you turned around and said that the two of you, you and your now girlfriend, had broken up. I took you in my arms and held you; I told you that I would be there for you. I whispered that you two might still be able to work things out, not to worry, and I promised that, no matter what, I would be your best friend and help take care of you.
And I remember realizing that, although our touch wasn’t even remotely romantic, holding you again was absolutely euphoric. One of the very best feelings I’ve ever had.
I had made plans for that evening, but, at your arrival, I dropped them instantly. I think that I forgot to call, or text, the people with a cancellation and apology. Instead, I drove to the store with you in the car, beside me, and we picked up items for a homemade vegetarian chili; you said you wanted to put mango in it, which I thought was weird, but you’re a self-proclaimed chef, so I didn’t question you. I was just so happy to be in your life again, as a real friend. I was so glad to have those awful pretensions and barriers removed.
And then I woke up so damn quickly; of course it was a dream.
The mango-infused chili isn’t marinating in a cold, stainless steel pot in the fridge right now, and you’re still living on the other side of town (but further away than that, really). Come to think of it, I don’t think I even know the zip code.