A List of Best Intentions

They say there are times in everyone’s lives where we all start to question why the hell we’re here.

And there are also times, for those unlucky few, where we begin to question whether or not anything is worth doing.

I was one of those unlucky few.

All I could really do was sleep when I wasn’t at school. Yeah…sleep in my room, staring at the ceiling…staring at the shirt I got signed by Stephan Jenkins I framed…always reminded me of that freaking stupid list.

Why?

That was my only question.

That’s right. All I did was wallow in self-pity. No friends. No love. I just felt really shitty.

It was probably the worst way imaginable to spend the last few weeks of 1999. I hate to say it, too, but I was starting to miss Cody. I mean, I grew up by that kid’s side – he was my brother from another mother, if his mom could stick around for the ride. I was almost brought down to hoping the world would end, just to make the lonely pain go away.

I always knew Cody and me were complete opposites. I knew it the second I met him in kindergarten. That’s why I befriended him – if he were insane as I was sometimes, I’d get bored. If he chose to argue with me, well, at least we were occupied. For some weird little reason, we stuck together like peanut butter and jelly, except we weren’t edible or nothing.

And if things had stayed steady I’d guarantee I’d never leave him. He knew I was clinically insane and yet chose to be my buddy. But after a decade of some of the crazy shit I pulled, I guess he had enough.

I mean…after all, I did get arrested…

I can’t blame him…

And if it weren’t for him, I’d have never really met Stephanie.

Ah, Stephanie…if only I didn’t piss her off, too…really, she was the only girl who ever really gave me those butterflies besides Cody’s sister. And Kara freakin’ hated me, plus that whole “she was five years older than me” thing. Well, Stephanie hated me too, but…but…when she hated me, it was just…ugh…

I really needed something.

A cure for heartbreak? Yeah. As cheesy as that sounds…I guess I could’ve used it. Closest thing I had were heartburn pills, though, and you can’t overdose on those things.

I didn’t even have it in me to play with Tungsten like I used to. I’d take her on walks and everything, though without the spring in my step that came from my usual optimistic attitude, she certainly didn’t seem to feel up to anything either. Poor dog. I’m surprised she never ran away, ‘cause I would’ve understood.

As much of a dead end my life was now, I still had to go to school. Only a reminder of how few friends I had.

Only a few people still had an ounce of respect for me – the number of lovers dropped like a hot potato after I knocked Cody out. And those people who respected me were the very band that got me into this whole mess: I Am You Are. You know, I’m not blaming them or anything. It’s not like they knew I’d take it to a whole other level with the money they paid me.

It was December 17th – the last day before we’d be out of school for Christmas break, and if we were unlucky, we’d be going back for another semester.

I swear to God, that’s what everyone was talking about: What if all the lights go out? Will there be school? Are we all gonna die? And then there was: Let’s get wasted at least once before we die! Yeah! Lose our virginity! Piss off our parents!

God. Was that what I was like a few months ago? Everyone sounded so stupid. I just couldn’t shake the feeling that I might have inspired all that dumbness.

I got out my binder for math and sat down, anticipating the semester test our teacher was giving us. Joy. It was so typical of that loser to give us work on a day where all the other teachers were throwing parties.

“Yo, Kev!”

I turned around. Robert, I Am You Are’s drummer, was at my desk with that famous shitfaced grin he always had, leaning forward with both hands on it. “You doin’ anything Christmas Eve?”

I shook my head.

“Really? You ain’t wrestlin’ a tiger blindfolded, or knockin’ up Brittany Spears?”

“I’m grounded.”

His face fell. “Oh. That sucks. Well, we’re holdin’ a Christmas party – me and the band – that’s, like, sort of a secret-snowflake-gift-givin’ thing. You wanna come?”

I shrugged. “I would, but I just said I’m grounded.”

“Kevin?”

“What?”

“Are you familiar with the term ‘sneaking out?’”

I snickered. “Yeah.”

He brightened up. “So you comin’ or what?”

I gave it some rudimentary thought. What did I really have to lose? “I guess.”

~~~~~

So I’ll admit: yeah, I still had a little rebel in me. I didn’t worry too hard about the whole sneaking out bit – I Am You Are was notorious for holding parties really late at night. My parents weren’t too keen on me when it came to escaping. When they’d be in bed excited for Christmas, I’d be at Robert’s house, excited for whatever would come.

As for a gift…well, that was a dilemma. What would I get for a random kid I wouldn’t even know? After a lot of thought I eventually settled on a Total Hits CD from 1999. I mean hey, why not? Music was awesome. Back then I had high hopes that it could only get better. (In a lot of ways, it did!)

The party was great. It started of with, of course, a few renditions of Christmas carols done by no one other than I Am You Are themselves.

Bruce looked goofy in a Santa hat but sang as great as ever; Alyssa had reindeer ears on but played a thousand times better than I had. Jon even had a red nose – a fake one, duh – staying true to the Christmas spirit; I couldn’t see Robert behind his ever-moving drum set but I’m sure he was wearing something stupid.

Mistletoe leaves were everywhere. You couldn’t take three steps without being caught under it. There were so many unsafe spots that people moved away from them, creating big holes that not even the bravest souls would set foot in.

The mistletoe was even hung above the band members’ heads. It was probably completely out of their control, since at one point, Bruce and Alyssa had done their famous guitar duel bit. They were under a sprout and the crowd started chanting, “Kiss!” So Bruce grabbed her around the waist and laid a big one right on her lips. When they broke apart, her face was red and they were both smiling.

I scanned Jon’s face for any sign of disproval. I found a little bit, but it wasn’t anything like Bruce made it out to be.

Pretty soon the time for the Random Gift Exchange swung around. When we entered the party, Jon handed everyone a number to start with. I was number eighteen.

So after the music was played, Bruce took the mic as his bandmates took a rest. “Okay, so this is how it’s gonna work out: Robert’s got a hat – Santa Claus, of course – and it’s got all the numbers in it. I’m gonna draw two at a time, and when you hear your number called, you come up here and give the other kid your present. And you get theirs. And then you can talk or party or make out or whatever floats your boat.”

Chatter ensued. Robert pulled a Santa hat off one of the amps, stuffed with weightless paper. As Bruce dug into it and pulled out the first pair, we got quiet.

“Number fifteen…and twenty-six.”

A black-haired girl walked up to the homemade plywood stage, waiting for a heavyset boy to push through the crowd. He was notorious for being a big time ska kid, and she was notorious for not giving a damn. It was an unlikely pair, and the two exchanged gifts and walked off together.

It took a long time to get through all of us. Sometimes people would coo at a couple of boys and girls; other times, people would laugh – especially if the presents were opened onstage. When Robert got called up, he gave this one really shy girl a box of condoms. Jon got a pack of Kool-Juice. There was no end to some of the crazy crap people received.

“Number fifty-four and number eighteen!”

My number!

Happily, I went to the stage, clutching the wrapped-up CD in my moist left hand. But when I turned around to see number fifty-four come up…my mouth dropped.

It was Cody.

I think the crowd sensed my anxiety too, since when he pushed his way through the masses, they moved out of his path.

Cody glanced at me at one point and rolled his eyes.

By then, I wasn’t really mad at him anymore. I knew why he didn’t want to be my friend. Still, with us being ex-best-buds, it was more than a little awkward when we were onstage facing each other.

His eyes were an icy blue; he was trying to glare but it only came across as a blank stare. My heart was thumping at a fatal rate in my chest, all the blood rushing to my face. He wasn’t frowning, but he was nowhere near smiling.

Out of the corner of my eye I saw I Am You Are, staring at us as if they expected a fight to break out.

A random voice in the crowd shouted, “Hug him!”

And…yeah…pretty soon it was in the mouths of everyone.

Cody and I did a double take at the audience. It was now becoming a chant louder than the music had been. Then we turned and faced one another again.

He was smiling, like he knew in his heart that things would be alright.

Before I could register the image of Cody beaming for the first time in a long time, he had me locked in a man-hug that forced my face into his chest. In a millisecond it was all over and his arm was simply around my shoulder.

I smiled back at him, trying to let him know how much I appreciated the little normalcy that had hit us right then.

“Ah, get a room!” Robert laughed, ruffling our hair from behind.

So things…were alright, I guess. Cody and I trotted off the stage as once again friends…that all sounds so sudden. Dang. I think it does, at least. Literally…it happened so fast, but that’s exactly what went on.

We ventured through the crowds. He followed behind me, tagging along, getting just as many pats on the back as I was. And when there was an open spot that had no mistletoe above it, all we could do was just stand there quiet.

“Well…?” I urged.

Cody shrugged. “Well what?”

I ruffled his hair. He pushed my hand away, still smirking. “Look dude, I’m…I’m real sorry about everything.”

He closed his eyes, sighing. “I’m sorry I pussed out on you.”

“I’m sorry I almost got you in jail.”

“I’m sorry for…um…hmm…”

“I’m sorry I punched you out.”

“Hmm…”

“Sorry I got you into this mess, sorry I crashed your bike when we were seven, and sorry for just being an idiot in general.”

“Cool. I’m sorry for…”

He had his hand to his chin, looking at the ceiling.

“You tryin’ to fart?”

“Nah, just…I’m trying to think of something else to apologize for.”

He was smirking, as per usual.

I punched his shoulder, and it all fell into place.