hbd sid

I met this boy when I was 15 and he was 16. He was tall and kinda chubby and had the reddest hair I'd ever seen on a person that didn't come from a box. My hair was red from a box and wasn't anywhere near as red as his. I would go to his house after school. We would listen to music and talk a little and I would inevitably fall asleep on his bed while he sat on the floor writing. I don't know why I always fell asleep, maybe it was something about how comfortable I was around him, maybe it was something about the delicious way his room always smelled, maybe it was just being a teenager and being tired a lot. He gave the best hugs. He would just wrap you up in his long arms and you could just stay there forever. It wasn't just me, either, everyone loved his hugs. My dad once teased me about hugging this boy too long, and my mom said something like, "Hug him next time he's here, you'll see". Dad hugged him. Dad never teased me about hugging the boy again. We tried dating. It didn't take. It didn't matter. We didn't need to be boyfriend and girlfriend. I think he was my first adult relationship, because we didn't force anything that wasn't there. He lost a lot of weight. He got skinny. Like for really skinny. It always looked weird to me, this skinny guy wasn't the chubby boy I had met when I was 15 and he was 16. He fell in love with one of my best friends. They were awesome together. They were better together than they ever were apart. They made my life better than it ever could have been without them. She was so short he would almost have to pick her up to kiss her, and he did sometimes just because he could. When I was 18 I had surgery. I remember waking up the day after I came home. He was sitting quietly in the corner, with his girl, and they were singing together. They had come to keep an eye on me, make sure I took my painkillers, help me if I needed anything. I felt better, lying there listening to her strum her guitar and their voices singing softly together. He wasn't the greatest singer, though. We got older. We thought we got wiser. We would stay up all night drinking and smoking cigarettes and talking about what we thought were really deep subjects. We fought. We went weeks, sometimes months without speaking to one another. We always fell back into our friendship easily, no matter what mean things had been said. He died when he was 21 and I was 20. Car accident. His girl died too. The world lost something beautiful and special and just amazing that day. For a long time, I was angry that they'd been taken away. It wasn't fair to have known such great people if I was just going to have to lose them. I think a lot of us, the people who loved them, felt that way. But as the years have come and gone, a lot of years, I've realized what a gift it was to have had the chance to know them, and love them. I'm grateful for the time I had, that we all had, with such people, and I know my life is better for having had loved them. Today would have been that boys birthday. I wish he was here to celebrate with us, but I will celebrate regardless. I will celebrate the life of the first boy I ever loved, and I will do my damnedest to not be sad.

Happy birthday, Cody. I love you.

Hi, there.

Being home is absolutely wonderful. I'm never leaving again. Ever. Except to go to Joann's and HEB and maybe Maudie's because momma needs queso and margaritas from time to time. Mmmmm, margaritas... Did you know that queso, as I know and fiercely love it, doesn't really exist outside of Texas?! I tried to order some in Flagstaff and the guy looked at me like I was an idiot. "The burrito comes with cheese on it, but I can put some on the side if you want?" How has that not spread? Delicious, melty, creamy, spicy cheese in a bowl? Scooped up with warm tortilla chips with tons of salt? I feel terrible for anyone who has never had it. That must be what people are talking about when they say that they feel like something important is missing from life, but they don't know what it is. It's queso. They need queso. Shit. I need queso now. Havoc is still beating me. Last night he headbutted me in the mouth. My bottom lip has a very attractive cut along the top, and the top lip is cut all to hell on the inside. I love my kid, very very much, but good christ he's a dick sometimes. Unfortunately, my delirious joy to be home has been tempered by hurting my back again. It's been creeping up for a few weeks now, but I ignored it, kept on keepin' on, and now I'm back on the couch with my heating pad. Hopefully this time isn't as bad as it was last time, and I can avoid the whole physical therapy thing, because I don't like having to pay someone to fix me when I am too goddamn young to be this broken in the first place. The massages are pretty nice, though. The good news is, since I can't stand for longer than ten minutes without my back going into spasms I can't really cook, which means that the guys are going to be doing the cooking for a few days. That means we'll be eating out or ordering in, because I don't think they even know where the pans are or where I keep the bacon, which means I will probably get me some queso soon. It's all about the little things. Little things like queso.