stopped being such good friends? Yea, that’s me and I do remember when we stopped hanging out. It was probably when I was so obsessed and occupied with Eden or the girl I was currently dating to ask you how your day, week, or month was. If not, I was probably drugged in my room imagining conversations between past historical figures. My favorite people to talk to were definitely Frederick Nietzsche and Jesus Christ.
“God is Dead” - Nietzsche
“Says who?” - Jesus
But seriously, I think the two of them would have some phenomenal conversations.
I cringe every time I hear best friends are forever. Every relationship has an expiration date.
I’m just patiently waiting for my memories of Kyla to expire and fade so that I can continue life like I never knew her. There she goes again. I start writing about Michelle and somehow Kyla finds her way back in. Not this time.
Michelle called me last week to remind me that her birthday was coming up. She wanted to confirm that I’d be available on that day or if I was too busy “jet setting around the world in exotic locations.”
“Oh, please Michelle, you know I’m never actually busy. My entire external facing online life is a lie. Send me a calendar invite,” I said.
“Haha. Calendar invite? Ok mister corporate America. Can you give me your secretary’s number to go with that?” Michelle said.
See, we have this tradition of going to the Museum of Fine Arts every year for one of our birthdays. The tradition started when we had an art history class together our freshman year. I remember the day I met Michelle like it was a scene out of my favorite novella.
I knew nothing about art whatsoever and I had to write a paper on my reaction to a piece of art I’d seen in real life. This girl next to me always had something to say about all the slides on the board. I’d take a good look at her throughout the entire class period. I decided one day I should introduce myself to her. On this one November day she was arranging her notes as I was leaving the class. As I was walking by we caught each other’s eyes and I just stopped and smiled right in front of her. As she was adjusting her glasses I tapped her on the shoulder and said,
“Hey, I’m Jake. I’ve noticed you’re quite the art aficionado these past couple of months.”
“Um, I mean... I like art. You know I have the tendency of talking too much in class. Sometimes I forget other people can hear me. Oh sorry, I’m Michelle,” she said.
“If you knew other people could hear you, you’d also know the professor calls your name about 10 times each class. Glad to formally meet you Michelle.” I said sarcastically making sure she would understand my humor.
“Well compared to a person who I haven’t heard speak in class yet I’m a chatterbox,” she said.
That’s when I thought it would be the perfect time to ask her to strike up a hangout.
“Well. Not for a lack of effort. I really struggle with turning images into words and expressions. I’m more of a linguist. This class is eating me alive,” I said.
“I mean I didn’t mean to poke fun at you or anything,” she said.
It was now or never.
“ Wanna see the campus art museum, I really don’t know where to start with this stuff. Maybe you could teach me how you react to artwork. I’ve tried reading all the books,” I said
“We could just catch the T down to the Museum of Fine Arts? I’m sure the stuff there is more memorable than the stuff our school has. You’ll for sure love something there,” she said.
I was shocked by her response. You know, I really did need help in this class. Thing is, I could have gotten help from anyone in the classroom. I just really wanted to get to know this Michelle girl. Listening to this girl contribute in class made me want to love visual art. I didn’t just want to be a spectator in her life. It all started with a casual hello.
We went to the Boston Museum of Fine Arts for the first time in late
“God is Dead” - Nietzsche
“Says who?” - Jesus
But seriously, I think the two of them would have some phenomenal conversations.
I cringe every time I hear best friends are forever. Every relationship has an expiration date.
I’m just patiently waiting for my memories of Kyla to expire and fade so that I can continue life like I never knew her. There she goes again. I start writing about Michelle and somehow Kyla finds her way back in. Not this time.
Michelle called me last week to remind me that her birthday was coming up. She wanted to confirm that I’d be available on that day or if I was too busy “jet setting around the world in exotic locations.”
“Oh, please Michelle, you know I’m never actually busy. My entire external facing online life is a lie. Send me a calendar invite,” I said.
“Haha. Calendar invite? Ok mister corporate America. Can you give me your secretary’s number to go with that?” Michelle said.
See, we have this tradition of going to the Museum of Fine Arts every year for one of our birthdays. The tradition started when we had an art history class together our freshman year. I remember the day I met Michelle like it was a scene out of my favorite novella.
I knew nothing about art whatsoever and I had to write a paper on my reaction to a piece of art I’d seen in real life. This girl next to me always had something to say about all the slides on the board. I’d take a good look at her throughout the entire class period. I decided one day I should introduce myself to her. On this one November day she was arranging her notes as I was leaving the class. As I was walking by we caught each other’s eyes and I just stopped and smiled right in front of her. As she was adjusting her glasses I tapped her on the shoulder and said,
“Hey, I’m Jake. I’ve noticed you’re quite the art aficionado these past couple of months.”
“Um, I mean... I like art. You know I have the tendency of talking too much in class. Sometimes I forget other people can hear me. Oh sorry, I’m Michelle,” she said.
“If you knew other people could hear you, you’d also know the professor calls your name about 10 times each class. Glad to formally meet you Michelle.” I said sarcastically making sure she would understand my humor.
“Well compared to a person who I haven’t heard speak in class yet I’m a chatterbox,” she said.
That’s when I thought it would be the perfect time to ask her to strike up a hangout.
“Well. Not for a lack of effort. I really struggle with turning images into words and expressions. I’m more of a linguist. This class is eating me alive,” I said.
“I mean I didn’t mean to poke fun at you or anything,” she said.
It was now or never.
“ Wanna see the campus art museum, I really don’t know where to start with this stuff. Maybe you could teach me how you react to artwork. I’ve tried reading all the books,” I said
“We could just catch the T down to the Museum of Fine Arts? I’m sure the stuff there is more memorable than the stuff our school has. You’ll for sure love something there,” she said.
I was shocked by her response. You know, I really did need help in this class. Thing is, I could have gotten help from anyone in the classroom. I just really wanted to get to know this Michelle girl. Listening to this girl contribute in class made me want to love visual art. I didn’t just want to be a spectator in her life. It all started with a casual hello.
We went to the Boston Museum of Fine Arts for the first time in late
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