my best friend turns eighteen today.
David Charles Campbell,
The way in which we became friends still remains a mystery to me. Newspaper was a deciding factor of course, but how you became a semi-permanent fixture in my red bubble car and how you ended up coming home with me everyday after school and how you became known as 'Dahveed Campbell' in my phone--it's all a mystery to me.
You were awkward and fifteen and the awkward sixteen-year-old me knew that something great in the name of friendship was about to occur. And we thought we were so cool, riding around in my ridiculously over-heated car, taking adventures to buy cheap horrible cds at Big Lots and the Warehouse. The sweet sounds of the faux-lesbian duo T.a.T.u filled our lives, as did spending hours on end at Barnes and Noble reading AP/SAT prep books and really really (at least to me) boring nature encyclopedias. And we would go to Ford Park with fruit from Trader Joe's and I would trade you some of my mango for some of your pomegranate and we would talk about Mr. Belk because he's probably the best man to ever live and we would pine ways to win our then significant others' affections and we would make fun of people who made fun of us.
You turned sixteen and we had your party at Bjs with random people from newspaper and we ate a lot of pizza and you wore the Hannah Montanna wig, of course. During our junior/senior years we became much more sophisticated and did all the usual stuff but by then the employees at Coffee Bean knew our names and we talked more about philosophy and you copied my AP U.S. homework and we were so disappointed to find out that T.a.T.u were indeed fake lesbians. We went to more parks and spent a lot of time sitting in cars at night and freaking out when bubble car stalled in front of the Watchers' house. We loved newspaper, State Street deli, Slugworth, and became completely infatuated with a man named Instructor Antonio C. Curtis. We ditched class for Mama Mia, sent each other mega text messages late at night when one or both of us seemed to be having a meltdown, yelled at Mrs. Shineral as we drove past RHS, and crashed into the curb that one time when it was really hot. At some point I left for college and when I'd come home, we'd gossip more and learned to smoke cigarettes together.
And things haven't changed; you're the one person that I know I will always have even when everyone else has gotten sick of my randomness, my mood swings, my analyzing of every single little thing, and the way I cannot stop talking about whatever my current obsessions are for the month, or even the year. And now you are turning eighteen, and I feel like I've already accepted this because eighteen is synonymous with maturity, thus I have started referring to you as "my friend Dave." And I'm writing you this 892847 word essay on why I love you and why you can't ever leave me because I might as well just stop breathing so I'll end it soon, I promise.
I everything you. More than anything in the entire world. Thank you for three beautiful years of laughter, love, fun, lots of driving, comfort, support, learning, friendship, acceptance, etc. You've helped me realize so much about this world and so much about myself, thank you. So, in conclusion...
Happy birthday frog pussy.