It was the last day of a long, crazy summer. We were lying by our neighborhood pool that night - I was staring at the full moon with a cigarette on one hand, a can of beer on another, and a crushing weight on my chest.
I wished the stillness had stayed. I wished he hadn't started The Talk.
"So you're really leaving, huh," he said.
"Dude, please, I'm not in the mood for The Talk right now," I said, a long pause and a sigh later.
The Talk. That's how we call deep one-on-ones that I dread as much as I love. At that very moment though, I really couldn't do it. I couldn't stand having flashbacks of our stupid days and reckless nights and our shallow ramblings and deep Talks and all those great stupid things in between that we've done together before the undead started to march on and rampage our cities.
"I mean, I really don't want to exaggerate anything, you know. I just want things to just... flow, you know, like, just let them happen. Like, I don't wanna hear stupid cliches like the one that you really like, the one from that movie we saw on our double date, what was it, 'sometimes when people grow, they grow apart'? I mean, yeah, I'm fucking sad right now alright, so can we not talk about me leaving?"
"Whoa whoa, chill dude! Haha!"
He laughed a long, loud laugh and somehow I can't keep myself from belting out a loud laugh too.
"That double date was a fucking horrible idea!"
"Your idea, not mine,"
He then sat up and put a really serious face and looked me straight into my eyes.
"Hey. I am sad. But listen man, it's not a big deal. I might get drafted soon as well. Whatever happens, I'm gonna leave soon. Who wants to be caught dead in this fucking town anyway? But I'm still gonna be around. You are too. You and I know that. And don't you ever again doubt me about that."
It's like the gravity of the moon pulled the weight off my chest.