Best friends

"Funny, really, that our generation is going to see all the current,
like, superstars die out." Seeming satisfied with this remark she
smiled and then inspected her nails critically, one by one, as she
continued,
"I mean, what's the point, in the end? We just sit around reading about
the fabulous way celebrities fuck everything up, and we just basically
kiss their arses as if they were something out of the ordinary," she
looked at me, "which they're not," she returned to scrutinizing her
nails, "anyway then we've got to watch them get magnificently old and
die, and then we've got to try to follow their example. It's a bloody
mess."

She had spread my duvet on the floor and was now lying on her stomach
on it. I could see down her top: she was wearing a black bra.
I rubbed the back of my neck, where it ached from being in an awkward
position, leaning against the wall, and tried again,
"I dunno. Maybe there's something important going on. It's got to have
some sort of purpose..."
"Purpose!?" She cackled shrilly and clumsily yanked up her shirt by
the neckline. it didn't do much good. I could still see the black lace
peeping over the top. Maybe she meant it to be there. I hadn't thought
of that. I swallowed,
"Well, you know, humans need someone to look up to. It's some sort of
psychological....thing..."

She regarded me pityingly from under her heavily mascara-ed
lashes.
"You're so naive, Will, you know that? You're too trusting."
She reached out and touched my knee gently, then snatched her hand away
as if she had touched something red-hot,
"Oh bollocks! My nail varnish!"
She clambered to her feet and started rooting in my chest of drawers,
throwing things onto my bed.
"What are you looking for?" I asked, finally.
"Nail varnish remover of course," she said, as if it were the most
natural thing to be looking for in a guy's bedroom.
"I think my mum keeps it in the bathroom. Try in there."
She mumbled a thanks, and stumped out. I closed my eyes and tilted my
head back against the wall. The black outline of her head against the
light of the doorway was still imprinted behind my eyelids. After a
while it broke up into dots and I opened my eyes to find her looking at
me from the doorway.
"What?" I asked, dizzy from imagining. She only smiled and sank to her
knees on the duvet again. She began cleaning the chipped polish from
her nail.

When was it that we changed? Why did it happen so unexpectedly? My
other mates had said it was inevitable- if a guy has a girl for his
best friend one day he's going to wake up and want her. I didn't
believe them at the time, but one day...all of a sudden it was
blindingly obvious to me: my best friend and I had grown up and I had
fallen in love with her. Simple as that.

I cleared my throat,
"Look, Jean, you know me better that anyone, right? You've always been
there and...well, we've stuck together and..." my tongue felt as if
someone had run a steamroller across it and then smoothed it down with
sandpaper. I swallowed again, trying to make my nerves less apparent.
She was watching me again, one eyebrow raised, "...and I used to feel
as if I knew you...inside out and everything but now..." She laughed,
shaking her head. I frowned, irritated,
"What?"
She brought her face really close to mine and grinned
"Shut up and kiss me already."
So I did, and afterwards we lay down next to each other on the duvet,
linked fingers, and watched the dust motes in the beam of light that so
often had held her silhouette.