One Hundred and Twenty Nine

He’s there, just right there. My mind flashes with images of my first bloody nose, fruit on the floor, awkward wrestling positions, bad hair experiments, and spontaneous caressing of my cars air-freshener at red lights. I have to ask, like puking, the question falls effortlessly from my mouth. “Are we still friends?” He just turns and walks, taking a piece of my heart along with him. I think “what now;” what next?