| Current mood: |  uncomfortable |
Saturday night, the emotions finally set in. James picked me up after art class on his bike. Now by bike, I mean bicycle. He drives, but hates it. Not like our town isn't small enough to walk through in five minutes anyway.
So I was sitting on his handle bars as he pedeled slowly throughout our town, smiling. When we were little kids we used to repeat this same process almost every spring and summer night. However, it was freezing cold this night compared to spring or summer.
I never learned how to ride a bike. James learned how to first, and always carted me around. So I decided to skip the bike wrecks that came along with taking my training wheels off, and depend on James. Which I suppose is what I've been doing every since.
Afterwards we with to his father's cafe. Burty all all emotionally and teary-eyed, because I am like a second daughter to him. He also knows this was our last saturday night ritual for years. We sat there for hours talking and eating, and listening to the juke box (If you couldn't tell by our names [James Dean and Monroe] it's an oldies diner. Our parents were considered "eccentric" in town.) By the time they closed at 11 we took our stuff, and made our way down the street to the theater. Animal House was playing.
Of course the crowds of beer-guzzling jocks were there, and I'm sure it wouldn't have been so comical without their random spurts of " YEAH BRO!!" "WOO! PARTY!!". Maybe I'll even miss them? I highly doubt it, there are jocks everywhere.
The ride home was the emotional part. Specially when we were so involved in our talking that it was too late to realize that James had accidently rode to my old house out of habit. We got off the bike, and sat in front of the remains of the charred house, in dead silence for what seemed like the longest time. I broke the silence by finally bursting out in tears. He put his arms around me, but I shrugged them off rudely, and ran the rest of the way to the Miller's.
So now what? That was my last night out with my best friend, and he probably thinks of me as a bitch. I know for a fact, because all day yesterday afternoon after church (the Millers make me go) I tried calling him. He wouldn't pick up, and directed me to his voicemail.
I went down to the diner, and Bev and Burty were there. I had a nice dinner with them (James was suppossed to join us), but the conversation was lacking and dull. I really don't know what to do. We could have been using this time together, but I screwed it all up.
I leave tomorrow, and I'm sure the ride to St. Louis with him isn't going to be the most pleasant if we don't make up before I leave.
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