Misspent Youth

I don't mind the darkness so much. I'm used to it. To be honest, there's a real peace to it; it's like silence for the eyes.

Speaking of silence, I don't much mind that either. When I was younger I loved the constant noise around me. Music, excited chatter, children playing. It felt like life and I was part of it. But I'm older now and the gentle hum of the TV and quiet conversation suits me fine.

What's starting to get to me is the smell in here. I can't quite pinpoint where it's coming from. Somewhere in here, obviously. It's an old smell; like a combination of faded Brut 44 Cologne, dust and damp. You know, that damp that's not quite musty, but left to its own devices, will be.

My world feels so much smaller now, almost like I'm in a box. I suppose that's the price of getting older. 

I had a great childhood! I travelled all over the place. I played in the dirt. I had the most epic tea parties!

Oh, the tea parties! You wouldn't believe it, but they were awesome! We had real china made for kids and me, Sally, Suzie and my very best friend, Misty sat at a small table and ate cookies and drank juice, out of that real china. REAL CHINA! I'd never heard of a kid having their own china set before that. Haven't heard of it since, but my best pal did.

I often wonder what happened to her. She was the best friend I ever had. We did everything together. It didn't matter that I was a boy and she was a girl, we just got each other, ya know?

We met on Christmas day, 1983. I recall there was some big fuss, a controversy of some sort over my moving to town. I'd been living in another city, about 20 minutes away, at a complex they called K-Mart.

Honestly, I was glad to leave there. It was always loud. Some commotion or another was always breaking out. The place was complete and utter chaos. Women screaming, pulling and tugging at each other, all of them clad in brightly coloured clothing and plastic shoes.

I still remember that day. It was cold, but when we met, it was like magic! She gave the best hugs! 

One thing I loved about her was she included me in everything. The tea parties, like I said, dancing around her room with that strobe light her brother gave her, watching TV. I was always there. We listened to Casey Kasem count down more hits than I can imagine. And yes, WHAM was robbed with Last Christmas. Damn Geldof and his famine relief!

She told me her secrets. I can name names. I won't, but I can. I could tell you about every boy she liked. Every boy she kissed (there are way more than you think; girl said she was a geek, but that's some humble brag crap).

I comforted her when her father had a kidney transplant and a heart operation. He was away for a long time. I stayed with her on Friday and Saturday nights when she didn't have a date. I didn't have one either.

You know she even bought me clothes. I still have the yellow and white pyjamas she got me. They're fleece. They still fit too. I'm pretty proud of that.

I even slept in her bed. No, stop…don't go there, it wasn't like that! Not even close. That offends me, the very thought of it. Ours was a deep friendship. There are just some lines that just can't ever be crossed.

When she moved, I followed her. First to college, then to another house. I met her kids and that man she called a husband. I didn't like the look of him from jump. I knew what he was. Turns out I was right.

Somewhere along the way, we lost touch. Must be 30 years now, give or take. I still miss her to this day. It feels like a part of me has been missing all this time, a very real part, like an arm or a leg. No, not even that, my heart. My heart has been missing all this time. I sure hope she's doing well.

I don't cry. I'm a man. Arvin Alain doesn't cry over things he can't control.

I got some news today though, someone's coming over. The old woman who owned this building died a while back and I gotta go. I knew the day would come, I just didn't think it would be so soon.

You get comfortable, ya know? Logic would have told me the old woman was in her 90s, but this is my home. Well, was my home. I didn't want to face leaving it. It's tough out there.

Hang on. I hear something. People are coming in. I guess it's time to go.

Someone's talking about a box. Sounds like a woman's voice. Man, she's bossy!

She knows my name. She's crying. She's hugging me. I don't know her. She smells familiar in a way. There's something about her I can't quite place.

I mean, don't get me wrong, she's not horrible-looking. I just don't know her. She has to be like 50 and the only people I know that age are the old dead lady and the other guy. I think he's dead too.

Seriously, who is this old bag? And why does she look so familiar?