It’s already past eight in the evening when he checked the clock that has been hanging on the wall behind the counter where the reservation for billiard tables takes place, and where he had been assigned when he had worked here, while studying at the same time, some two years ago. And if his estimation was correct, he had been here for more than thirty minutes already, waiting for him. He might not be coming afterall, he thought. It’s pretty much what he would have expected, if he was expecting anything at all. But he’ll stay and wait for him here until the place closes. It was his idea to meet him at Enricos’, a place usually frequented by college students after school, and which is usually full on Saturdays that the owner had to make a sign and post it outside the door to let those who were coming in that there’s no more room inside and to just come back later.
Five minutes later Lex arrived, wearing the usual smile he had been known for, the sweet and sincere one, and though this time it seemed unfamiliar to Alan, or distant, or that something felt off with it, he smiled back at him.
I’m glad you made it. I thought you’re not coming, Alan said, holding a can of soda in one hand and a cue stick on the other. Thanks, he continued.
No problemo, Lex replied, grabbing the stick from Alan’s grip. I don’t have anything to do, anyway.
They were childhood friends, Alan and Lex. They are still friends, Alan believed. But it has been a week that they haven’t talk to each other. No phone calls. No nothing. If Alan hadn’t seen him at school yesterday, and not asked him to meet tonight, this set up may took another week. Or months. Or years, maybe. Nobody can tell for sure. Funny how something so strong, something you thought is that strong, could collapse in just a blink of an eye just because of a stupid mistake. Something that can’t be un-done. It can happen even with friendship. Theirs was on the process of collapsing. One of them, atleast, thought so.
Haven’t you talk to her yet? Alan finally asked.
Who?
Lisa.
Nope. I don’t think it would be a great idea, I mean talking to her. He said, shifting his attention to Alan. And can we not talk about it, about her.
He wasn’t bitter. Not at all. He just didn’t like to talk about her or see her, that’s all. And he’s not blaming her for all of this. Not anymore. Things happen, sometimes, for no reason at all. They just happened. Like what Alan told him. His friend, for the life of him, didn’t even know why he did what he did, kissing her. His girl. He knew he shouldn’t have done it, and that he didn’t mean for all of this to happen. But what happened happened. He didn’t even asked any question about it, Lex. It’s too much to discuss, the situation.
They’ve been silent for a while. Lex seemed to be more focused in playing billiards , which both he and Alan knew he hated before, than the conversation itself. But Alan didn’t mind it.
I’ve talked to her yesterday, Alan said. I was on my way to my chem class when I saw her. She’s a mess now. You can tell if you’ve seen her. She told me she missed you, and that she was sorry too.
Did she asked you to tell me that? Tell her I’m flattered.
No, no. She didn’t. I thought you should know. Talk to her.
Silence.
Look, it was my fault. I’m really hoping we can talk about it, of what happened. I’m.. I am really sorry. I should have never done it. I know it’s too late, and that I couldn’t change what happened or turn back time. I feel stupid for doing what I’ve done.
Silence again. Lex heard him ofcourse but his attention was still fixed on the table where balls of different colors were waiting for him, for his next move.
I’m sorry. Alan said again.
Lex looked at him for a moment, smiled and after a few seconds, went on playing.
I know, he said before hitting number 7.
in·con·sis·ten·cy (ĭn'kən-sĭs'tən-sē)
n., pl. -cies.
1. The state or quality of being inconsistent.
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the inconsistent
About Me
- Jonathan
- I am a writer even if I'm not. And I am a rockstar, too.
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