When we met, I didn’t anticipate the impact Brendon would have on my life. Jon knew him from high school and had dragged him to practice one day, unbeknownst to me, because of course if he had the brilliant idea to audition a singer for a band I was already the vocals for, they weren’t going to tell [i]me[/i] about it. But when I heard his voice, it didn’t upset me, not at all. This was not an amazing, radical moment; it wasn’t like the two simple words, ‘[i]I’m Brendon[/i],’ were definitively the start of something great. He was just another person filing in, assuming we were going to do a few gigs, play for a few years before most of us went to regular, reliable jobs, maybe one went on to bigger and better things in the way of music.

I did know, however, that when Brendon sang one of our very few demos, he was the answer. This was what completed our band, whether we stayed a lame high school dream or not. I knew that even if we didn’t go very far at all, he was going to be doing something. [i]Something.[/i] You can’t predict what greatness will develop into. I certainly had no idea that Brendon would be where he is now.

Needless to say, I’d resigned my post as lead vocalist a good minute into Brendon’s audition.

I’d never let myself accept the fact that I thought anyone not-a-girl was attractive, but then, they were never anyone I spent hours in practice with, then days on tour with, once we’d reached that point. Brendon was the difference. And maybe it was a little cliché; he was charming and charismatic and outgoing, maybe too hyperactive for his own good in those days, and I was shy and introverted and reserved even when it was just the four of us hanging out. I think it was the fact that he was everything I wasn’t that drew me to him. I’m confident that even before our ‘thing’ started, he must’ve caught the odd looks I threw his way, or picked up on the way I looked to him for input before anyone else, or noticed how I always chose a spot closer to him. It wasn’t until I got to look at all of this in retrospect that I realized I behaved a little like a clingy puppy around him - if I’d known, I’d be beyond embarrassed, because I was the kind of kid to think that even hugging a guy friend was ‘totally gay.’ Ridiculous. Especially considering how we ended up.

He never said anything about it, though. That was another thing. He was completely nonjudgmental, and I’d never encountered anyone quite the same way. Even when I’d proved myself a complete hypocrite and began pursuing him in different ways, he didn’t turn his nose up at me, make fun of the double life I led. He wasn’t that kind of person. Apparently, he still wasn’t - Brendon had every right to turn tail and run from me, no doubt a reminder of an awkward, uncertain period of our lives, as soon as he saw me, but he didn’t. I really have missed him.

[i]I mean, you’re predictable, that’s all. Don’t flatter yourself.[/i] I smile, and it’d probably hit harder if he didn’t look almost sheepish. [i]Oh yeah? Show me the leather seats?[/i] I can feel myself looking slightly more serious, because I didn’t realize we were being this playful. I definitely started it. There are so many inappropriate responses to give to that, but I take in a breath, purse my lips before deciding on the most boring reply possible. [b]”Sure. We’ll see if it’s all you imagined.”[/b] ...okay, maybe that’s a little suggestive too, but my train of thought in regards to Brendon is no longer so limited to ‘absolutely no gay wonderings’ as it was when we knew each other. There’s been a lot of time to let my mind wander, and I know realistically we probably won’t reconnect beyond catching up for the next few minutes, so. Playing out everything I wish we’d been is far too easy right now. 

Brendon seems almost surprised by my admission. I do think about him. We’re real people with separate lives, so of course, I haven’t thought about him every single day for the last almost-decade - not even every single week, or every single month, but he crosses my mind a stupid amount for someone I don’t even speak to regularly.  And it’s a whole range of thoughts: not just the nights spent together, or caught moments in a dressing room, or the dubious moments onstage just for an act, but also every drawn-out, sentimental conversation, every played out in-joke, every minute we wasted in a recording studio fucking around with songs that never made it to release. It’s not like missing a best friend. I know how that feels, because I hardly speak to Jon or Spencer, either, and how I miss them is a completely different realm of feeling. Missing Brendon, it’s like missing a boyfriend, except worse because I never got to call him that. I never got to tell him it’d be nice to call him that, or publicly act that way with him. We never got that chance.

[i]That’s sweet.[/i] It’s my turn to smile sheepishly, keep every thought in my head to myself. I duck to look at my feet for a second, no reason at all.

[i]Oh my god, no fucking kidding, dude, I have a Tesla. That’s super creepy, man.[/i] I’m laughing, and this is all somehow so normal, easy. [b]”You’re predictable, too. I bet you haven’t driven it more than a few miles.”[/b] As we enter a more crowded area, music thumping, I slow, letting myself be closer to him now that I have a good excuse. [i]D’ya wanna trade cars? Yours is actually cooler.[/i] [b]”Get your own, Blake. I knew you were after my car this whole time,”[/b] I say with another laugh, turning to grin at him as he’s teased. A moment later and I’m pouring us both drinks, handing him his delicately, guarding our little space against the bar from other partygoers. I’ve realized, judging from passing glances, that there are definitely people who want to talk to him, probably one of the biggest names here - so I decide to hog him all for myself. 

[i]You may not believe it, but me neither.[/i] I pause, considering this over a sip from my glass. [b]”I believe it. When we went platinum you were still drinking Capri-sun. You’ve always been pretty humble.”[/b] I smile fondly, because thinking about us in ‘06 is still endlessly amusing. [b]”Brendon -“[/b] I start, then stop, because the song has changed over the speakers, and apparently it’s a hit because almost everyone around us has started cheering and moving more enthusiastically, and the place is too loud to be heard in. I pause before looking brazen, reaching over the counter and grabbing the entire bottle I’d just poured from to take with us. [b]”C’mon. I promised you a tour.”[/b] Bottleneck in one hand and a full glass of whiskey in the other, I’m comfortable enough this time to hold the hand with the glass behind Brendon’s back, guiding him with me back to the curb.

I got a good spot arriving as early as I did (and apparently there are very few other designated drivers in attendance), so it’s barely a minute’s walk from where we were until I’m at the passenger side of the ‘76 Pontiac Firebird, setting the bottle on the hood so I can open the door for Brendon. I make a grand, sweeping gesture at the vintage interior, ridiculously mismatched from the other cars lining the street, and grin back at him. [b]”I know. I’m [i]very[/i] cool.”[/b] I lean against the door, taking another drink. [b]”You can have a seat if you’d like. I’d invite you to take it for a test drive, but if memory serves, you’re kind of an awful driver, and I haven’t updated my will.”[/b]