Yellow Mama E zine

Besties

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By Billy Ramone

 

           I wrap my arm around Amberlee’s shoulders and pull her tight. I nuzzle into that perfect spot just behind her ear and give my best giggle. Within seconds, she’s giggling, too. Mama and Daddy say that my laughter is infectious. I like that. And I love the way her hair smells, with a touch of her mom’s cigarette smoke lurking there beneath the floral shampoo, pollution hiding amid all that sweetness. As I pull away, I wonder if I would love Amberlee more if she was deep like that. I decide that, no, I mostly like her the way she is.

         I gasp, then, and cry out, “Let’s go to Divas!”  I say it like the idea just occurred to me.

         Her laughter halts, like I knew it would, and her eyes drop. “Oh, I can’t,” she says, “Mom and dad want me to stay home.”

         I let my face crumble and turn loose of her arms. She catches at my hands as I turn.

        “I can ask them,” she blurts. “Maybe they’ll let me go since you’re here—”

         “It’s okay,” I tell her. “They won’t change their minds. We’ll just stay here.”

        “If you don’t mind,” she says.

        “Nah. I’ll just call Lisa in a bit and see if she wants to go instead.”

         I don’t have to watch her smile collapse to know I’ve won. Amberlee’s parents don’t really watch her anyway. And Divas is just at the corner mall, less than a mile away. A short walk for a breezy summer afternoon.

        “They have this new tank top you just need to see,” I tell her. “I think the blue just matches your eyes perfectly.”   Those eyes that Tommy found so amazing, I think to myself, but I’m smart enough to keep that part quiet.

        Which just goes to show how I am a lot smarter than Amberlee. That’s how come we have been friends for so long. That plus the fact that I never let her see how much smarter I am. That would not make her feel good. And I want Amberlee to feel good. I really do. After all, we’re best friends. We should want one another to feel good. We should look out for one another.

        Which of course is what makes what happened with Tommy so messed up. Oh, I know she’s sorry, and I believe her when she says she didn’t mean for it to happen. Amberlee has a good heart. But she should have seen it coming. After all, Tommy’s a boy. You know, urges and all that. And she definitely should have shut him down. But then, like I said, Amberlee’s not so smart. She’s not quick on her feet, and she definitely does not plan ahead.

       Amberlee does know how to be a sneak when she wants, though, so it’s not long before we are out the front door and headed to the mall without a word to her mom or dad, just like I knew we would be. When we get to the corner of Mason and Main I feel like skipping, because I know that if her dimwit parents were going to bust us it would have been before we turned the corner. I keep talking about the blue tank top, adding on more details about it even though it’s been months since I have been to Divas and anyone with any sense knows that by early August they are putting out stuff for fall, anyway. But Amberlee is clueless and just laps it up. She wouldn’t look good in a tank anyway. It’s not like she has the boobs for it. But it keeps her mind occupied, and I’m able to work out the timing with the light without her even noticing, which is how we end up standing on the corner with a red crosswalk and a whole parade of cars on Main zooming past. I’m patient, poised on the curb in anticipation, her arm hooked in mine, waiting for the car that’s not too fast, and not too slow, just the right one…

        As Amberlee falls forward, her head turns and I catch a flash of disbelief in her eyes and I give her my most reassuring smile. The smile that tells her it’s okay, that this is going to hurt me almost as much as it hurts her, but that we will both survive. Then the car is punching its brakes and the tires are screaming and the dull whump of contact is drowned out by my best, most sky-splitting, shriek.

        Everyone will think, of course, that it was an accident. I’ll blubber and wail for days. I won’t smile or laugh again until Christmas, which is almost five months away. I’ll be so perfectly miserable that even Amberlee will think it must have been an accident. But she’ll know better. Deep down she’ll know. She felt the pressure on her shoulder, the bump of my hip. I made sure she felt them, because it’s important she know the truth. Otherwise, how will she learn?

          After all, she’s my best friend. I don’t want to have to make another.

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        In addition to old punk rock and cheap horror movies, Billy Ramone enjoys writing horror, crime, and weird fiction.  He has published dozens of stories over the years, most recently in Yellow Mama, Black Petals, and in  Wicked Press anthology Bad Pumpkin.  He is currently the warden of the Pulp Asylum. 

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       Darren Blanch is an Australian digital illustrator who constructs immersive visual illusions designed to linger long after first glances. Driven by a classic Norman Rockwell appreciation for raw human emotion and showing "life as life," Blanch infuses deep character depth into a portfolio that refuses to be boxed into a single genre. His work effortlessly bridges the gap between gritty pulp-noir, playful conceptual surrealism, and cinematic character studies. Navigating a progressive visual disability, he treats digital tools as a vital creative bridge - pushing the limits of contrast, color, and texture to craft complex visual narratives that move the mind and perfectly capture the spirit of a story. Portfolio: www.ivsma.art | FB: @IVSMAart | Insta: @IVSMAart