One, two, three, four!
We roamed the halls without a care in the world. The only thing on our mind was what was for lunch and the weekend to come. Altogether we were bob plus me. Me being the boy, the guy, the man. And bob of course being my three female best friends. One was pretty, smart, athletic. She seemed to have it all. But she was a bitch. Two was pretty, energetic, spoiled, and fun. She seemed to have it all. But she was a bitch. Three was pretty and driven. She had nothing to work with but all to fight for. She too was a bitch.
One grew up in the most suburban of homes. Mom, dad, two younger sisters. She made her way from butch to beauty in a mere three years. By the end she has a beautiful smile and gorgeous hair.
Two has had a difficult life. Two moms, but neither of them loved her as they should. Two dads who were just there. But not much help. She was on the fancy side; family drives nice cars. They live in nice houses. But the bruises tell a different story.
Three had very little. She lived with her mom in a two bedroom house with all her siblings. She is yet to have her own bedroom. Barely making ends meet. But always seems to look good.
I knew two first. She broke my heart. I asked her out, and she said yes. But then a week later she dumped me. She moved away and I was happy as could be. One introduced me to three, but two is how I knew one. One and I became friends when two was gone. I said “hey, you are two’s friend right?” and she replied “yeah, but now I’m yours.” And so it began. At first it was a simple acquaintance. But then it grew into something much more. Something fun. Fun for all of us. One was my best friend. She and I would strut our stuff through the halls of junior high knowing that we were the shit and that no one could touch us. We would find a toy store out of a piece of card board, and a candy shop out of a single piece of gum. We loved life. Nothing could kill this high. Three and I were really never great friends until ninth grade. We never had our moments. Not yet. One was the first one to break the silence. Then she was totally dorky. But now she is the shit. We would eat lunch together. Play together. Make movies together—Joke, laugh, kid, wrestle, pound each other’s heads into glass windows while trying to convince each other there was a doughnut on the other side.
I slowly moved into ones locker. And in turn into three’s as well. We were happy. But then I heard them call two’s name over the intercom. At first I was mad. Who the hell does she think she is? She can’t just come back. No, I still hate her. But then I let my thoughts wander. And I found myself imagining her and me together—again. This time it would be different. I would love her and she would love me. And only me. But I couldn’t very well just jump right into that. Plus… she had a boyfriend. I hated him. Two was my first real love. Slowly, I became friends with two again. Talking on the phone, hanging out, chillin at the water cooler—but it never happened. I’m glad it never did. Three and I, by now, were friends. We could hang out just us two. We didn’t, but we could have. That summer before ninth grade is when it was official. They were hence forth referred to as bob, but only by me.
High school began and things were awesome. Love interested bloomed from one, two and three, but not in that order. Two still had the upper hand; three was next, followed closely by one. As it failed with all of them, the idea of a relationship beyond friendship was pushed under the carpet. As high school progressed, one met four, making us more. I dated some random number, as two was with a string of read heads and three was with strangers. Four seems to be the only one to stay.
Soon after high school, three fell out of our lives. ‘Twas I, one, two and four—we were real cool. Then, again, as it seems, another seemed to slip through our fingers. But not before we meet five. Five is a cute girl in a normal life. She is pretty, funny, silly and driven. As I was saying, two began to fade. She became a mere memory even with our best efforts to keep her intact. All is well that ends well, though. I, one, four and five are having the time of our lives.
Of course, the numbers don’t stop at five. Our numbers have only gotten greater. There is six, the used-to-be curly headed fuck who we adore, caring, passionate and in the army, six is who we live for. There is seven, eight and nine, but they’re just siblings of one. Ten I met through a friend. She is pretty, silly and a bit of an alcoholic, but that is what we love most about her. She does things by year, perhaps because of some OCD she’s got going on. Yes, the numbers go on, too many to count. But who wants to spend time counting when we could spend time having fun? My number = adventure, and it is so much better than math.
On the occasion, I do miss the group formerly known as bob, but I don’t think they miss me. I try to keep in contact with three, but I feel as though she thinks she is better than us. But we really just want her to come back. And while I miss three a whole lot, I hope to never have to deal with two again. One phase of my life I am happy that it’s complete.
