Page 83 of Blood Lovers

Syrsee makes a face like she’s thinking. “No. I’ve heard of it. And the song, of course. But I’ve never seen it.”

“It’s good. You should watch it some time. But the reason I bring it up is because it’s about a group of kids. Childhood friends who go through some shit together. Real coming-of-age shit, ya know? And it’s being told by one of them later in life. And at the end he says something like… ‘You never have friends as an adult the way you did as a kid.’ Like they never quite live up.”

Syrsee’s face softens and she smiles a little. Agreeing with me, I think.

“And that’s just the feeling I get with you. Like we really do have those memories, ya know? From… from forever ago. Like we really could just sit down, drink some beer and eat pizza, and go back in time together. And it would be so great. Stand By Me kind of great.” I sigh, then shrug. “That probably doesn’t make sense.”

“Like we’ve been friends forever.”

“Yeah. Like that.”

“And… we went through some shit together. Foxholes.”

“What?”

She laughs. “It was a running joke between me and my best friend. When she wanted me to help her with something crazy—which was often—she would say, ‘Remember when I pulled you into that foxhole and saved your life, Syrsee? You would’ve died out there without me.’ Like we were in Nam together, ya know?”

I have to cover my mouth to stifle my laugh.

“I know.” She looks away, grinning so big I can see her smile reflected in the window. “It’s dumb.” She looks back at me. “But it’s like that, right? Like we’ve pulled each other into a foxhole and lived to talk about it.”

“Yeah. But it’s weird, ya know?”

“Yeah, it is.”

“Anyway. You feel like my best friend when I was twelve. Which is kind of meaningful to me because I don’t remember anything from when I was twelve.”

She squints her eyes a little, playing these words back in her head. It’s a strange thing to say, and I expect her to ask questions about it—maybe even hope she asks me questions about it—but she doesn’t. She just stares at me and says, “I hope you feel better. It wasn’t a deep foxhole. Probably not deep enough. But I did pull you in.”

And that’s a weird thing to say too. But I don’t ask her questions either. I just say, “Sorry I got sick on you. But thank you for playing nurse. I feel pretty great now.”

“Do you want to come up while I shower?”

“Only if you want me to.”

“Yeah.” She smiles again. And this time it’s not forced, or thin, or wide. “Yeah, I do.” It’s just friendly.

We get out and go upstairs to her place. “Do you know,” she says as we walk inside, “that I have only been in this place for a total of six hours and the rest of my life here in White River has been spent with you?”

I follow her into the apartment, closing the door behind me, then look around. There’s one big room with a galley kitchen, a dinette table with three chairs, a flower-patterned sofa that looks like it might’ve been born around the same time as me, and a TV from the seventies that has an actual antenna on top of it. I let out a breath. “Wow, your place is much nicer than mine.”

She laughs. “I’m not sure that’s a compliment. Your place is a dump. And this place is… also a dump.”

“But a much more hygienic dump.”

“For sure.” She picks up a backpack, places it on the dinette table, and starts rifling through it, eventually pulling out a small stack of clean clothes and a towel.

“A backpack.” I didn’t really mean to say this out loud. But there it is.

“Yeah.” Syrsee sighs. “I travel light.”

“I guess you do.” I mumble this as I walk over to a record player sitting on an old-fashioned TV tray under a window, then bend down and start flipping through a stack of albums.

“I’ll be right out. I won’t take long.”

I look over at her and smile. “You take all the time you like, friend. I’ll be here.”

She pauses, smiling down at me. “I’m really glad you’re feeling better. But… if you feel sick again, tell me, OK? We’ll… rest. Until you feel better.”