Food Fight

Hey you- I saw a half-opened jar of Nutella sitting on the counter today, a butter knife disorderly touching the counter and messing the surface. It reminded me of you- of my favorite day with you. Do you remember that day? It was forever ago. What a mess you made of the apartment, what a fantastic day. Sure, you might've made a mess of my hair, clothes, and groceries. I never got the stains out of the walls, either. It's okay, you know you're forgiven.

I mean, there I was, sitting on the bed of my cramped room, trying to get some studying done. I'd spent every second with you that week, and was dangerously behind on my schoolwork. You kept distracting me. You'd walk over and bug me with one question or another, all poking and prodding. It wasn't difficult for you to get my attention. Of course I'd rather talk to you than study. You were the most exciting and interesting thing that had ever happened to me. No other friend felt anything like you. But seriously, I needed you to leave me alone. There was homework I needed to focus on.

Are you still as stubborn as you were? (Do you still stop to dance to the street musician's guitar? Do you still whistle at guys when they walk by?) You were certainly stubborn that day. Relentless, even. After you'd exhausted every distraction tactic; talking to me, playing my favorite songs, and grabbing my laptop away from me, you started to get creative. In your creativity, you explored my fridge. On the shelf sat a jar of mayonnaise and Nutella. You eyed them mischievously. As usual, you were up to no good. You were ready for war.

I'd finally focused on my assignment as you got the childlike idea. I stared intently at my laptop, filling out a worksheet. Yes, this was good. Maybe I'll get a decent grade, I thought to myself. Feeling the flow of answering each question, solving each problem, I was abruptly interrupted. A glob of Nutella flew into my hair.

I rolled my eyes, telling you to settle down. I had decided I was a Mature Person, and Mature People didn't engage in food fights.

But you, well, you were someone who didn't give up easily. So being who you are, you stepped over, this time with the mayonnaise, and dumped it right onto my lap.

I was filled with an emotion I didn't know how to place, this unrecognizable fiery feeling. You always made me feel this way- frustrated yet so high and passionate. I could never tell if it was a good or bad thing. Whatever that feeling was, it wasn't boring. Fire was so much more interesting than homework.

I stood abruptly, and gave you a look saying I'm gonna get you. Recognizing it, you sprinted to the safety of the bathroom. Since you locked the door before I could get in, I banged on the door. Oh boy, you were in trouble now. And you knew it. But you couldn't hide from the action for long, soon enough you came out armed with a bottle of shampoo, while I held the Nutella in self-defense.

Oh no you don't! You yelled, squeezing the product in my direction, spilling it on the floor, and running off. I chased you around the corner. Slipping on the hardwood floors I grabbed the wall, or maybe you grabbed the wall (my memory of details are a little fuzzy). Someone grabbed the wall while slipping around the corner, and I never could wash the eclectic mix of food stains off.

By the end of it, food and shampoo and various substances were spread all over our clothes and hair and the tiny apartment. We were a laughing, messy, youthful heap. Satisfied with yourself, you'd successfully completed your mission of distracting from my schoolwork, so it was time to clean up. I followed you into the bathroom, and watched you turn the shower to the perfect temperature.

Once you took your shirt off, I wasn't sure where to look. I felt awkward. I hope I wasn't being weird, but I didn't know how I was supposed to act. You were wearing that lacy bralette we bought together a few weeks prior. We began cleaning ourselves off, bent over the edge of the tub. I was trying to wash out the Nutella you threw in my hair, you had to clean off whatever retaliation I'd chucked at you. I wanted to laugh, you were so ridiculous! What kind of a person throws food at someone's hair? I was so mixed. Was I elated and laughing, or frustrated at your ridiculousness, or just amazed by you?

Hey, come here, you said, you missed a spot. So you brought the shower head over to me. I closed my eyes, and you gently washed the mess out of my hair. And there we were, standing shirtless and dripping wet and laughing.

I know it probably feels like forever ago. It's forever ago to me, I was still a kid then. We were so soft. So small. Then again, I suppose I'm still a kid now, but in different ways. Maybe we're both still kids, trying to navigate the mess that is ourselves. Slightly older, hopefully wiser, and a little less less naïve. I don't think we're the same food-fighting kids, though.

I hope this letter doesn't bore you, but I had so much to say. Please keep reading, it's just a little bit longer. I promise I'm almost done. I have another funny story for you- It's something I never told you. It never would've changed anything anyway. But hey, remember all those times you'd say I love you and I'd say I love you back? You said it like an afterthought, as if it were such a casual thing. I'd say it as if it didn't hold much weight, like it was a nothing thing. A simple fact. What if there was a second, much scarier, I love you? Something that wasn't so simple or so casual? I'm not sure what I'm trying to say. You can forget I said anything. You should forget all about this. I guess it wouldn't matter to you, especially not after so many years later.

I saw you, though. I saw every side of you better than I ever had the courage to say. But a girl like me was never your type, was she?

Anyway, enough of that. There's no need for me to bore you any longer. I hope you're doing okay, wherever you are.

Love,