Something Wrong With Mine Too

It was a Friday night. I asked my best friend Alex and his boyfriend to hang out with me. Alex said, “Yes, Saturday at noon.”

Saturday morning I drive the 65 miles to his house and I text him as I’m parking. “I’m parking.” His response, “Crap.” I ask him what’s wrong.

“I’m in Florida.”

I know Alex way too well so I head up to his front door and knock. Ten minutes later he opens the door wearing Spider-Man pajamas with his hair standing straight up and empty liquor bottles all over the floor.

Yup, that’s my Alex. Hungover. Not a shock.

It was a fun night. We got completely wasted, went to a gay bar, went to a straight club, danced with strangers and barely made it into his house alive. Nothing too abnormal for an Alex date. We even hung out with our other best friend, Amanda, who is going crazy. She has something wrong with her brain, literally (so don’t laugh).

But I get to tease her about it because I’m her best friend. “Nicole, the doctor said something is wrong with my brain.” “Um, I knew that already. There’s always been something wrong with your brain."

She laughed at me.

But really though, I’m really scared for her. She means the world to me.