To Pumpkins!

We always used to have music on, all day, all night, every car ride and every passing afternoon. That didn't change. But this time we had his mom's old Bob Dylan and Billie Holiday records and a record player.

We always ate cheaply, sitting on wooden floors or in plastic chairs on the side of a busy, dusty road. That didn't change. But this time we had creole seasoning, curry sauce, and a (semi)-fully equipped kitchen.

We would always read in a perfect side-by-side silence, jumping at an extraordinary line and spilling it verbally into one another's ear. That didn't change. But this time there was a football game on mute in the background, and the couch was squishier for the jumping.

We'd always make fun of each other's freckles, crazy hair, morning breath, belly buttons. That didn't change. But this time we were older, more tactful and less vicious.

We always played 500 and I would always win. That changed.

We always drank the best beer within reach, Stella, Singha, Antarctica, racing each other slowly until we were red in the cheeks and laughing. That didn't change. But this time there was Honey Weiss, and a fine Cabernet, and a pumpkin to carve.

We always knew we needed time apart. That didn't change. But this time the goodbye strangely felt like a long-winded hello, thrown off into the future, where we'd catch it and find each other again.