#MWBB Week 48 : 11:11

I hate those old sayings about couples. “We are one,” and all that crap. I really hate the one, “We are soul mates.” Tell me that one, “We’re soul mates! Is she your soul mate?” and I swear, I’m gonna bitch slap you. “She’s the missing half of my soul!”

Jesus. Get a life.

Even that one from Princess Bride. What was it? Oh, yeah. “True love.” Yeah. That crap. Tell me, “It’s true love,” and I’m gonna sing, “True Love’s Kiss” from Enchanted. You know. That first ten minutes when that silly cartoon part is on, and everybody’s singing about true love’s kiss.

I’m all about understanding, and coöperation, and being best friends. Yeah. That’s what she is. She’s my best friend. She understands me. I like to think I understand her, but hell, I don’t even understand simple things like what to say when someone asks me, “How are you today?” So, I gotta be honest. I probably don’t understand her at all. But I like to pretend I do.

I can tell when she’s happy. Usually anyway. I mean, she likes to cuddle when she’s happy. Or maybe I’ve got that backwards, and she likes to cuddle ‘cause it makes her happy. I don’t know.

I just know she’s my best friend.

You ever heard those duets. The really good ones. The classy ones. Not like say, Beyoncé and Kanye West. Mushy, market driven crap. I mean the good stuff. Like Kenny and Dolly. Or Streisand and Diamond. Or even Ross and Richie. Now those are duets. Two individuals, singing a song, making it more than either could make it alone. Yet both stand alone. Neither needing the other.

Friends. That’s what it’s about.

If we could sing, we’d be a duet. But we can’t sing. Or, you know. I can’t sing. I croak. In a monotone. It’s like I sing one note, and make it louder or softer. So, we’re not that kind of duet.

We’re more of a duet of instruments. Violin and Viola? Nah. Two cellos maybe? I don’t know. We’re not like that classical stuff. We’re more like two guitars. Acoustic guitars. Yeah. And we play different notes. We’re good alone. But when we get together. We’re better than we are alone.

Yeah. We’re like that. A guitar duet.

So, don’t talk to me about that soul mate crap, or how we’re each the other’s half. We ain’t any of that crap. We’re two separate people. Two individuals. But beautiful music happens when we get together.

Yeah. A guitar duet. I like that.

429 Words

This is my entry for week 48 of Jeff Tsuruoka‘s Mid-Week Blues-Buster flash fiction challenge. Please, go read the other stories in the challenge.


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