When They really get to know you they will
you meet him on the internet when you’re 16 or 17. you live in the same state, nine hours apart, but every afternoon in the space between the last bell of the day and dinner time, you exist together in an online world where you quote song lyrics to one another and share your teenage melodrama. he calls himself indie rock boy, and you call yourself studkitten. in twenty years, you’ll be core and kitten, kitten and core.
graduation comes and you go to a state school two hours from home. he moves to yellow springs, which might as well be another country. you half assume you won’t survive this, but somehow you do. you send letters in the mail, though you wish you could send him a box of avocados. he sends you his art and a short story he wrote about you: the elevator tells no lies. you think one day you’ll write a story about him. sometimes you call the common area in his dorm because he doesn’t have a phone in his room. it’s a gamble of who picks up, and more often than not, he’s out and you’re leaving messages with midwest freshmen you’ve never met–will never meet. tag, you’re it. he’ll call you back when you’re in class and hum pedro the lion songs onto your answering machine. when they really get to know you they will.
he’ll move to san francisco. you’ll visit him at his apartment in the mission with his two dogs, chico and ohio. you’ll visit him at the eagle when his new band plays a show. you’ll visit him at the lgbtq nonprofit he works at on market street. one day, he’ll come to sacramento, where you live, and he’ll call you up, and you’ll meet again. you’ll go to san diego on a work trip and eat at pokez because you know it’s his favorite hometown spot. you’ll make him a mixtape that he’ll find years later and send you a picture of. he’ll move to portland, and when his band plays a house show in the east bay where you know no one, you’ll go just to see him. you’ll send each other lyrics to your favorite songs. he’ll send you links to songs that remind him of you. he’s down for whatever. he’s got a heart that’s full up like a landfill. he has a crush on everyone.
years later, when you’ve started a new life in berlin, he’ll visit you. you’ll begin the night feeling awkward and unsure, because you’ve both lived a dozen lives since you last saw each other. but the beers will unloose you, and you’ll find your rhythm, and you’ll spend all night drinking at a rooftop bar and taking pictures in the photo booth. you’ll post pictures and all your mutuals will like them and reminisce about being teenagers on the internet. the next day, you’ll get ice cream together with your husband and son. it’s the last time you see him but you know it won’t be the last time you see him.
now a body of water separates you once more, but this is nothing new; your entire relationship has been defined by distance. you’re elder millennials, the generation that grew up first without and then with the internet, so it’s normal to you that the majority of your friendship has taken place through oceans and waves and wires. so when you’re feeling lonely, or when you’re missing one another, or when you’re feeling full of love, or when you’re just grateful, so grateful about how life has brought you together in its weird and wonderful way, you do what you’ve always done. you send a message saying i miss you, oh sweet boy, you comment on an instagram post with a heart emoji, you send each other links to amy grant and ozma songs, you make plans to get matching tattoos, you tell each other i love you, because you do. this isn’t some head-over-heels, knock-you-off-your-feet kind of love. it’s something else, it’s nothing you’ll forget. because you’re his kitten and he’s your core.
Note: This piece includes references to song lyrics by Pedro the Lion, the Get Up Kids, Radiohead, Onelinedrawing, Rilo Kiley, Saves the Day, and Alkaline Trio.
