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  • Writer's pictureGabriel Berm

About Time

short story

“What should we do with the body?” I said while doing my best impression of a CSI investigator. “Stop it,” Olivia said, chuckling. “No, but seriously, what are we gonna do with Mark? We can’t just leave him here,” I asked. “Fine, we’ll take him with us, pray my dad is asleep or out watching a football game. Is there any game tonight?” She said, audibly nervous. “Two things, one, it’s three in the morning, two, I wouldn’t know there was a football game if I was physically there,” I replied. I called an Uber, we were the only ones left or, for that matter, able to acknowledge our very own existence. When the Uber arrived, Olivia and I lifted Mark, and to the best of our abilities sat him on the backseat. Mark’s skin was fish-belly white, at least three tones lighter than sober Mark. “Is that guy ok?” The driver asked. “He just needs some air,” Olivia said. Phyllis —the driver— opened the window on Mark’s side, his hair looked like a hair product commercial. Once we got to Olivia’s house we carried Mark into the living room and placed him on the floor. Olivia put a pillow under his head. “How thoughtful of you,” I joked. She threw a pillow at my face. “Water?” I asked. She nodded. I brought two glasses of water, and we sat on the couch, staring at Mark’s drunk self. “I can’t believe you once had the biggest crush on him, what a taste,” I said, feeling my head slightly dizzy. “Shut up, I had a crush on you too,” Olivia said, seemingly regretting saying it. “You did?” I asked, somewhat surprised. She nodded, visibly embarrassed. “Well, I had a crush on you too, or have, I don’t know,” I said, feeling dizzier. “No, you didn’t,” she said. “Since fourth grade, I fell in love with that girl with the huge eyeglasses and the rubber band collection,” I replied, feeling slightly drunk, it was as if my body was now allowed to process the beers after we sorted the Mark situation. Olivia rapidly sat on the edge of the couch and looked at me. “Tell me you’re joking,” she said seriously, she had that stare that made you confess even your deepest secrets. “I’m not,” I replied. “When did you have a crush?” I asked. Olivia sat there in silence for a few moments, then answered. “Fourth grade, I even liked those stupid shorts and your weird obsession with pirates,” she said with a nostalgic voice. “I still wear shorts, and my love for pirates hasn’t but increased over the past several years,” I said. She smiled. “And Mark?” I asked. “I thought if I liked your best friend you would be jealous,” she noted, with her cheeks looking more red with every second of silence proceeding it. “So, do you still…you know?” I asked. My heart was beating with emotion, and my head was spinning courtesy of Coors Light and Olivia. She turned around without looking at my face. “Do you?” She asked. “Every day more since fourth grade,” I replied, thinking that sounded like something Michael Bublé would say. Olivia turned around, smiling and with her eyes sparkling. I grabbed her hand, she looked into my eyes. In a heartbeat, Olivia kissed me, and I kissed her back. “I’ve been wanting to do that for a while,” she said. As I placed my hand on her face to properly kiss her we heard a grunt. “About fu-hiccup-ing time,” Mark said and then went back to sleep. We laughed, her laugh hasn’t changed one bit in all these years.

© Gabriel Berm

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