eighteen again

i brought an old cd in the car today. i hadn't listened to it in ten years. it just jumped off the shelf. listening to it was such a visceral experience. as if i'd stumbled upon a distinct smell that catapulted me to another time.

it brought me back to college. my best friend at the time (who has made plenty of new best friends and i hope is somewhere alive and well in the world), he and i would lay on the floor of his room and listen to this album, its words full of sorrow and melancholy.

"do you think about dying?" he'd ask
"not anymore." i'd say.
"do you think we'll always know each other?"
"yes."
"even if i lived in alaska?"
"i'd write to you if you lived on a boat and the mail only came once a year."

and we'd stare at the ceiling, trying to make sense of the chaos.

listening to that cd reminded me that the chaos was really quite peaceful and that he still is my friend, even if he lives in alaska or on a boat. someday, maybe we'll run into each other. "do you remember?" i'll ask

and like most memories, he'll have no recollection of it at all. but we'll hug and meet each other's families. and somewhere, i'd know that best friends, like memories, are a great state of mind. especially when you are eighteen.