7/25/13

Planet Bob
By Kaitlin Edwards


You and I are a match made in Heaven.

Everyone says so. We’ve known each other since I was three and you were five, when our moms became best friends. We cooked Play-Dough spaghetti and caught fireflies and snuggled while we took our naps. You would make me origami rings and I would only talk to you because my older sister talked so much that no one seemed to listen. Except you.

When I was six and you were eight, you stayed by my side all summer, even though I couldn’t swim well because I broke my wrist and my cast couldn’t go under water. You stayed right beside me, three feet deep in water mixed with depression because I really wanted to go to the deep end. You didn’t go off the giant new diving board until I could jump at the same time as you, our fingers locked together. I pretended not to notice when you kissed my hand in the chaos of bubbles that were made as soon as we broke the surface of the clear water. I tried to make it up to you by watching Titan AE with you until the tape wore out. Not because I liked the movie, but because your face lit up every time they renamed the new Earth “Planet Bob.” I knew that the exchange was uneven, but I was six and you had cooties.

We went through our rebellious phases at the same time, you with your tattoos and me with my piercings. You moved away, but we still shared secrets like it was our job- I remember you texting me after your first time smoking, and then again months later when it progressed to you always having a stash in pocket. You’re the only person I ever told about taking shots of cheap vodka before going to classes. I knew that you finished all of those “decorative” sake bottles in your room when you were seventeen, and you knew that I stopped eating my junior year in high school. You became an existentialist and I became a hippie, and we exchanged music via texts even though neither of us liked what the other listened to. You began to call me “my Mary Jane” when you were high enough, and I was never sure if you were referring to weed or to the Spiderman comic books that we both loved. It didn’t matter- you were the first person I talked to in the mornings and the last person I said goodbye to at night.

We went to different colleges. My friends, who you have never met, referred to you as “the boy.” Your friends sent me drunk facebook messages that I have never told you about, asking if we’re dating and telling me to back off because I’m the reason why you ignore the pretty girls when they talk to you at parties. You wanted to drop out and move to Chicago, I wanted to go to grad school and work in California. We made plans to visit each other in the far off future. I told you that you were going to marry lawyer and have two kids, and you told me that I would marry a starving artist and you would never approve of him. We never talked about dating- it seemed like everyone else chatted about us enough without our input.

Three years have passed. It’s today, and I have been told four times in the last forty-eight hours that you and I are a match made in heaven. You own a record store and I am building my own coffee shop, and our favorite bar and two abandoned buildings are the only things that separate us. We look good together- you are 6’4 and tan, I am 5’10 and freckled, and our kids would have your brilliant blue eyes and my red curly hair. You make sure I eat enough and I remind you to pay your cell phone bills. You always buy the bacon and I always buy the eggs, and we laugh when there’s never toast for breakfast because we both refuse to change our ways… every time. You know what tea to buy me when I’m stressed and I know what beer to order you when you’re running late, depending on how your day was. I’m your go-to date for every wedding you’re invited to, and you’re the one who carried me out of the room like a princess when I couldn’t move from crying so hard at my mother’s wake. I know how to make you laugh and you know what to do when I’m sad. You take better care of me than I do.

But since that day we jumped off of the diving board together, you have never tried to kiss me, or take me to bed, or hold my hand. And I see your eyes follow the girls at the bars when we go downtown. And even if we are a “match made in heaven,” I know neither of us is going to make the first move. So next time your attention is caught mid conversation with me by a petit blonde with straight hair, I’m going to go order her a drink and tell her it’s from you.

Because even though I love you, I will never be the “Planet Bob” that lights up your face like that stranger just did.


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Kaitlin Edwards doesn’t know a lot about one thing, but she knows a little about everything. She’s a senior studying design and 3D animation, and she feels really awkward writing about herself in third person. She believes in love, laughter, and flossing… even if she doesn’t do it.