A Certain Kind of Person

I don’t ask if he’s watching too because I know that he is, that he doesn’t talk about it.

“Remember when taking sides was par for the course? When you’d buy a best friend necklace for someone to put them on lock down. And then, when it was the nineties, everything was colour changing, mood rings and hearts and pendants?” I ask him.

“Not the same for guys,” Jack replies so I say, “Sure, I know. But did you have something similar?”

“Not really,” Jack says, and when I ask what he’s reading he goes the shade of Blair’s dress last night, says, “The Walking Dead,” but he stopped watching that show the second they sent someone down a well to rescue a zombie or euthanize it or whatever the fuck goes through the heads of the writers writing those characters. But this show, he’s hooked. I am. We all are. Well, some of us, maybe a few.

“I’m not sure the chemistry’s right,” I tell him. “And I’ll always want the ultimate, I’ll always want Chuck.”

“But you believe in soul mates,” Jack says, scrolling with a finger at the same time, silently.

“And you don’t?” I ask him.