I Have Only Myself to Give, Nothing More

“Um, Brendon, it’s Ryan,” I say awkwardly, clutching my phone to my ear and cursing voicemail messages. “I just, uh. You told me to call you back? I mean, um, not that I don’t want to talk to you, I just … well, I was in a really bad mood the other day. I’m sorry. I, um, I didn’t mean to be mean to you or anything and it’s not like I don’t like you or anything, so, uh … fuck, I hate talking on the phone so much.”

I hang up with a frustrated sigh and drop my cell on my desk. You probably just screwed up your one chance at having the best friend you’ll ever have, I think gloomily and throw myself down on my bed.

It’s Sunday morning now; I spent most of yesterday doing homework and procrastinating calling Brendon because I guess I’m just a fucking coward. Dad spent most of Saturday out drinking and I’m pretty sure that’s where he is now too.

Noon comes and goes and I’m making myself a lunch of peanut butter and stale bread when my cell phone goes off. I drop my sandwich and bolt upstairs to answer my phone.

“Hello?”

“Ryan? It’s Brendon,” the voice on the other end says and I’m relieved to hear that he doesn’t sound angry at all. “You leave the funniest voicemail massages!”

He’s laughing and a small giggle slips through my lips before I can stop myself. “Uh, whatever floats your boat?” I ask, grinning despite myself.

“Dude, you worry way too much,” he says and I can practically hear the smile in his voice. “I don’t think I’ve ever heard a more distressed voicemail message.”

“Stop mocking my pain!” I say with a laugh. “God, you’re so mean. Why are you even friends?”

“Because I’m amazing and you love me?”

Smiling and shaking my head, all my earlier fears just melt away. “Sure, Brendon, we’ll go with that,” I say.

“Now who’s being mean?” he exclaims and I can picture him jutting his bottom lip out in an adorable pout.

“So, um, why did you want me to call you?” I ask, trying hard not the laugh.

“Because I like hearing your voice,” Brendon says simply and I can feel a blush creep over my face.

“You’re so weird,” I mutter and he breaks out into laughter.

When he finally gets his hysterical laughter under control, there’s a small silence, and then—

“Am I your best friend, Ryan?” he asks suddenly.

“If … I … As long as you’ll be mine,” I stammer back.

“Yes!” he cries. “I’m, like, seriously doing a happy dance right now. Oh, Jon just walked in. Hi Jon. Guess what? Ryan’s my best friend now!”

I can hear Jon chuckling and I’m certainly laughing and Brendon’s breath is rushing, all static and crackles, through the speakers in my phone and for one minute I can trick myself into believing that everything’s going to turn out okay.

“So, best friend, I’ll guess I see you tomorrow at school,” I say with a laugh.

Brendon gives a delighted, little giggle—yes, the boy giggles. “Of course,” he says. “And you better give me a hug when you do. Promise.”

“Okay, Bren. I promise.”