I saw a truck on the highway today. It had a stretched-out Liam Gallagher plastered on the side, holding a sign saying “Oasis Live Experience”.
It’s this week isn’t it? The first time Oasis has come here in decades.
I stared at that truck — waving apologetically at the honks from cars I nearly plowed into on my motorbike — because I knew you’d be there. I couldn’t stop thinking. Will you be at the front, in your parklife tee? Screaming your lungs out at the brothers you called “the coolest band ever to exist”? How will it compare to the dozens of tribute bands you’ve seen? Will the difference be stark? Or will the young’uns give the originals a run for their money?
Will you remember how we sat in your car, — hours past when I said I needed to be asleep — you trying to explain just how hot Liam was, me teasing you about how your track record with older men?
Will you remember the concerts? How we caught the attention of the lead singer of the Kooks by wearing ridiculous shirts covered in copper tape spelling out the band name in hilariously malformed letters? How you always refused earplugs, as I shook my head, befuddled at how you could stand to be right next to the speakers, the bass thudding in our chests?
Will you remember how we sat together in the backyard of my student house, a fire pit crackling as I saw you cry for the first time?
Will you remember the years where we were the closest friends could be? Where we truly, truly, loved each other? Leaned on each other as our respective storms tore through us?
Will you remember our inside jokes? The too-crazy-to-be-fiction stories we tell to flabbergasted friends?
The music I initially refused, but which you then had me hooked to for weeks on end?
Will you remember how we were bitter enemies for years? And even after we reconciled, will you remember our fights? Your hotheadedness, my distance? How we failed as friends, while succeeding beyond any imagining? How we talked it out, how we grew? How proud I was to say, “she’s my best friend.”
Will you remember the song we recorded together? The Home Depot bucket we had to use in lieu of drums for the backing track?
Will you remember how I used to want to date you, how I found you beautiful? Then how after you very gently and politely turned me down, I realized it was an absolutely terrible idea — and that the friendship that blossomed in its place was worth more than any fling?
How we are proof that a man and a woman can have a platonic relationship, and one of richness past anything anyone ever expected?
Will you remember how you disappeared? How one day, you sent me a message saying you’d be needing a bit of space? How I told you to come back whenever you felt ready — knowing deep in my bones that you would find your way back once you were okay? How it’s been silence ever since? For months? How the scant few months left before you leave across the Atlantic are slipping away?
Will you know how much I miss you? How much the you-shaped hole in my chest hurts? How I still have to stop myself from reaching for my phone to tell you something?
Will you know how much I ache to reach out? How I wasn’t strong enough to hold, breaking the silence to tell you I got a huge raise, and to wish you a happy birthday?
Will you know how much I have to tell you? How much has happened, how much has changed? How I still talk to you, standing in the closet?
Will you know how I’ll remember you forever? How I can’t help but to do so?
Will you know how my soul wheels around your still form, wondering what happened to my best friend in the whole wide world? How I fidget, lonely, confused, and desperate, watching the seconds tick away until you leave across the sea? How confusing it is for a part of my foundation, something that I thought could weather any storm to puff into smoke?
Will you know how I mourn? How I sit alone in my room, hands around my knees, tears staining the pillow I hold, wondering why? Wondering what I did wrong? Wondering how I drove you away, how I messed up so badly that you had to separate immediately and in your entirety?
Will you know how scared I am that you won’t come back at all? How terrified I am of the idea that the silence will never break, and how the fragile little family I’ve found is crumbling between my fingers, as I desperately try to cling on?
Will you remember me at all?