The Left Side of Everywhere

“Kellin, you’re an ass.”

That was a line I had used frequently when describing my best friend’s personality. If not that, then something completely worse. It was true on some occasions, well, most occasions. That’s why we got along so well - we could both be the biggest assholes to each other and still know that we’re the best of friends.

“I hope it’s a nice ass.”

I rolled my eyes, adjusting the small Xbox earpiece. He was doing the same thing he always did when we played Halo 3 - cheating. Of course he’d always take all of my vehicles from my base to get the best weapons. Dirty cheater. It was worse when he was actually over, though. Talk about world’s biggest screen peeker.

“No, it’s an old saggy grandma ass and no, you can’t get any work done.”

Kellin groaned from the other side of the headset, making me laugh. I got up from my spot, walking into the kitchen to try and find something to whip up. Probably cereal again. Maybe a sandwich. Ooh, hopeful I have some milk so I can make mac n’ cheese. Dear Lord, I need to learn how to cook properly.

“Kellin, when are you gonna be back home?” I asked softly, opening the fridge up, smiling when I noticed the half gallon bottle of milk sitting next to Kellin’s special orange juice. It had to be completely pulpless or else he wouldn’t drink it - little brat.

“I don’t know, hopefully soon. I miss peeking on your screen.” He laughed softly on the other end and I could tell it was from his little remark and not Jesse doing something stupid.

“I miss that little pouty face you make when I snipe you,” I murmured, pulling the milk, butter, and shredded cheese out before closing the fridge, “And then I gotta give you juice to make you feel better.”

“No pulp or get the fuck out.”

I rolled my eyes. “You’ve got it all wrong, Quinn, it’s pulp or get the fuck out.”

“No, Mickey Mouse, I’m pretty sure I’ve got it right. Pulp is disgusting and it gets caught in your throat. It’s gross to swallow.”

“That’s what she said,” I muttered with a smirk, hearing his little scoff from the other line, though I knew he was grinning like an idiot. “Don’t hide that laugh, Quinn. Don’t hide it! Naomi would tell you the exact same thing!” Yeah, if she was home.

Kellin finally just burst out laughing and so did I. Eventually, the items in my hand became too heavy and my fingers just gave out, releasing everything that I wanted to so desperately hang onto. Luckily, nothing broke or splattered, just made enough noise to bring my cat, Sammy, out from underneath my bed.
After we both calmed down and gathered the fact that we were both adults (though not very good ones), I recollected the items and set them on the counter.

“I can hear you trying to cook. What are you making?” Kellin asked, letting out a soft noise, probably just him switching positions on the couch in the tour bus.

“Mac n’ cheese. And I’m not trying, Quinn, I’m about to succeed. Greatly.”

“Wow, Mickey, your modesty is very refreshing.”

“Whatever, Quinn,” I was about to add another comment when I heard Kellin release a nice sounding yawn. “Hey, we’ll finish the game tomorrow night, go ahead and get some sleep, kid.”

“I’m not a kid,” he mumbled sleepily, “I’m older than you by a day.”

“Wow, one whole day!” I said with fake enthusiasm, “Please, continue to enlighten me with how much of a big boy you are.”

Kellin laughed softly. “You’re an ass, Michael.”

“Yeah, I know. G’night, Miss Quinn.”

Kellin took a deep breath, letting out another monstrous yawn. “G’night, Mister Michael.”

And with that, his side disconnected, leaving me in the kitchen alone with Sammy. I looked at the items on the counter and then at the clock on the oven, realizing how late it was. How late it always was when I was finally able to talk to Kellin. His show had just ended not too long ago in Arizona, putting him at midnight and me at three o’ clock in the morning with work in less than four hours. My job was crap. My work place was crap. My boss was crap. Bottom line, it sucked, but it was the only job that accepted me. Working in a cubicle wasn’t at all what I wanted to do. Especially with the stupid hours. I had to go from eight to eight everyday except Saturday. Sundays were usually the busiest, surprisingly, and all we did was answer calls for people who were having problems with their computers. Not fun at all.

I put all of the items back into the fridge, deciding that I could wait until in the morning to find something to eat. Cereal. Oatmeal. Something. I turned the light off in the kitchen and headed back into the living room to cut the TV off.

“C’mon, Sammy,” I said, picking up the tan toned cat, “Let’s go to bed.”