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Just two dudes in a Camaro

We've no business driving this thing, really.

BH and I can meet at any time, in any place and hit it off like two old friends that we are.

Except it’s not like old friends who only rehash old stories and old events — no, there was some connection made way back, some shared alignment or orientation with which we hurtle through the universe at complementary speeds.

If I had to trace it to a single moment (and I’m sure he, if he even agreed with my premise, would trace it to a different one), it would be the time in high school — very early in our friendship — when I spent an hour on the phone with him trying to get him to be a double-date to a Homecoming dance for me.

He wouldn’t budge. He could see the whole setup was a carwreck* coming from a mile away. But during the tangential wanderings of that conversation, I realized I’d encountered a human I didn’t ever want to let go.

*Some cute girl I knew only through a mutual older friend said she wanted to go to our dance; the catch was I had to get a date for her friend, too. (The reality, hilariously, was that the mutual friend — 10 years older than us — fancied the job of playing matchmaker; meanwhile, the cute girl only wanted to get into our school’s dance for reasons I, upon realizing this, didn’t care to investigate further, but involved other people at our school. The full story involves a lost jacket AND a speeding ticket for the poor sap I did get to go with me. I should probably write that tale down sometime.) Continue reading Just two dudes in a Camaro

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