“Dirt? Uh-huh. Whatever makes you feel better.” No, this isn’t the first time Cyrus dragged me off to an arcade in another country or our own. He has an account at the local teenage hangout, Pinball Pete’s, in our town. He has a knack for hunting them out. Like a pig to truffles.
I normally lose, except for onetime in Denver. It was spectacular. One of my best memories. We stopped at a Dave and Busters, an arcade for grown-ups, and I out raced Cyrus at least four times. Seriously, best day of my life…well after yesterday. A silver medal at the Winter Games beats out my virtual moto cross victories.
The game starts allowing Cyrus and I to pick our cars. I select a sleek motorcycle while he opts forthe 1978 Cutlass Supreme because he said the muscle car looked cool. I guess I’ll be taking home another win. The clock counts down and the race starts. I hit the gas heavy and make it out of the starting line in first place. Cyrus runs his pretty little car right into a wall.
“When exactly will you be beating me?” I laugh as he struggles to shift his car back and forth gears.
“Just wait. I’llcatch up. She’s just a little heavy to handle at the start.”
“That’s because you’re practically driving a boat.” My little motorcycle takes a turn effortlessly and I swerve to the left to avoid an oil patch on the road. I would almost feel bad for him if he wasn’t such a poor loser.
I’m on my third turn before my bike hits a tree and skids out in the dirt. As I wait for my player to reload andget started, my mind wanders. I’m not quite sure how Cyrus and I ended up best friends. When we met on a ski hill in Aspen, he was dating this bleached blonde skier who at seventeen was already half plastic. I, on the other hand, was a really pissed off high schooler. I had a mom who defines the term helicopter parent and I’d missed out on a class trip in order to hit the slopes and practice afew days before the end of winter break. To say my attitude needed adjusting would be an understatement. I was pissy. Cyrus bumped into me at the bottom of the ski lift and I turned around yelling. Somehow his carefree smile and believable apology worked. Later that night we were eating dinner together.
But, even though girlfriends have come and gone, we have never gone past the friend zone.Maybe it’s Cyrus’ inability to see me as an adult. We bought side by side condos in a new complex in Vermont and all I did was cement my spot as one of the guys. Meanwhile I continue to love him from afar.
It’s not healthy. I know.
I need to move on and find a boyfriend. And don’t think I haven’t had any because I have dated my fair share. Every time Cyrus picked out a new girl, I’d make sureto get myself a new guy. It’s like this back and forth version of Russian relationship roulette. One of these days one of us will take it too far and marry someone else.
“What are you doing?” he yells, jarring me back to my senses. “Your bike is just sitting on the road.”
Distracted by my concerns over Cyrus finding a wife and having a big lavish wedding where he’d make me be part of his weddingparty and wear a black suit while standing there smiling, I lost my focus. I take my foot off the fake brake and jam it down on the gas causing my bike to fishtail. While I kick up dirt going nowhere in the middle of the road, Cyrus zooms past me.
“I let you get ahead so I wouldn’t have to listen to you cry when I beat you again.”
He slams his electric blue old man car into the side of a cliff,stopping his momentum. My bike continues to build up speed, and I’m able to whip on by.
“See?”
“Don’t let me win. That’s as bad as cheating. Now we have to race all over again.” His declaration comes as I skid across the finish line. The fake people sitting in the stands on either side stand cheer my victory.
“As long as you’re paying.”
There are times hanging out with Cyrus like this chiselsaway at my heart. Having him so close, but knowing he’s not actually mine. Yet, at the same time I wouldn’t trade it for the world. I’ll take the endless heartbreak day after day if it means getting to spend time with him.
