Page 6 of Songs for Libby

“You shouldn’t need an invitation!” he shouted at me. “You’re my best friend!”

I turned to look at him, the sight of his bed head reminding me so much of our days in his basement, working out lyrics as he ran his hands through his hair in deep thought. The lump in my throat reappeared. I walked over to him and lifted on my toes so I could wrap him in a hug. His response was strong and immediate, just like always. “You know,” I said as my chin rested on his shoulder, “that street goes both ways. When’s the last time you came around my place?” I let go and turned away, picking up my shoes on my way to the doors.

I went into the tiny lobby and pushed the elevator button, standing there until it dinged and the doors opened.

“I really am sorry, Libby. For all of it.”

I turned back, holding the elevator open. “Will you do me a favor?”

He gave me a heavy-eyed half smile from where he leaned in his doorway. “Anything for my Libby.”

“Just—” I wanted to ask him not to drink anymore. Or not to drink for a month. But I couldn’t ask that. Because he would promise it, and then he’d break his promise and I didn’t know if I could take that. So instead I said, “Next time, will you just leave with Randy?” I was begging. Even I could hear the tears in my voice, and it was pathetic and he might think I was doing it to manipulate him, but I swear I wasn’t.

He struggled to swallow, his face painted in shame as he dropped his eyes and nodded.

I let the door go.

“I just miss you,” he said as the door started to close.

“I don’t know what that means. I’m here. I’m always here.” The soft thud of the doors sealing cut off anything else I could have said, and my words echoed back to me. I was always there for him.

I just wished he could be there for me once in a while.