Knox
“How about noncommittal sound followed by big secret,” I say.
“I said ‘secret,’ not ‘big secret.’”
“But you’re kinda acting like big secret.”
“Would I be prefacing a big secret with a noncommittal sound?”
“It does seem like you would be making a committal sound before the reveal of a big secret.”
“You never hear anyone talking about making a ‘committal sound.’ What would that even be?”
“Maybe like a determined grunt?”
“Do one,” Sylvie says.
“Are you stalling? See, this is why I think big secret.”
“No, I just want to hear your rendition of a committal sound. Is that so wrong?”
“Fine.” I sit forward in my seat, strain until the veins in my neck pop out and my face turns purple. “GAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH.” I sit back in my seat while the blood drains from my head. “Happy now?”
Sylvie is laughing so hard she can’t speak. “Dude . . .” She finally composes herself. “I thought you were gonna poop your pants.”
“Well, fortunately I didn’t. But you know what I did do? I committed? Didn’t I?”
“You did.”
“Now I believe the time has come for you to make your noncommittal sound and tell me your secret.”
Sylvie sighs.
“Is that the sound?”
“The fact that you need to ask means it’s noncommittal by nature.
” She sighs again and gets very quiet and her smile fades from her face.
“Cal. Cal. Cal was a friend of mine. Like best friend for a long time. We were actually supposed to go on this trip together but we sorta grew apart in the days leading up and it just didn’t work out.
” She stares down the road ahead. Her hands grip the wheel tightly.
“Good enough friends to be talking about in your sleep?”
“I mean, sure. Haven’t you had dreams about random people? Obviously you can have dreams about a friend.”
“Why did you two fall out?”
“I didn’t say we fell out,” Sylvie says. “That sounds so . . . combative. I said we grew apart. We embarked on different journeys. Or whatever.”
“Do y’all still talk?”
Sylvie shakes her head. “Not so much,” she murmurs.
“Never?”
“Nope.”
“No desire to reconcile?”
“There’s not really any reconciling to be done. It’s not a matter of desire.”
“But you guys were friends for a long time.”
“You really want to explore this.”
“Well, I feel kinda weird now. Like here I am, in his place.”
“Not in his place,” Sylvie says quickly.
“Okay. Sorry.”
“No need to apologize. You didn’t do anything wrong.” She presses her lips together.
“You miss him?”
“I agreed to make a noncommittal sound and tell you my secret, not go on Hot Ones over it.”
“Hot Ones?”
“It’s this show on YouTube where a dude interviews famous people while they eat increasingly spicy chicken wings.”
“That sounds profoundly entertaining.”
“It is. Like their noses are running and they can barely talk by the end.”
“Can we watch some tonight?”
“Sure. Anyway, that’s the thing I don’t want to be talking about.”
“You sure you don’t want to hit another Starbucks and get some chicken wings?”
“God, could you imagine if Starbucks had chicken wings? They’d be seasoned with like chai spice or something. Wait, you’ve tasted chai, right? My joke sorta doesn’t work if not.”
“Yes,” I say between belly laughs. “And chicken wings, even. And I have to tell you that while your joke is very good, I’m not sure chai-seasoned chicken wings would be terrible. I’ve definitely eaten worse.”
“You are officially now the weirdest person I’ve ever met.”
“Officially? Is there some certifying body of weirdness?”
“I’m the certifying body.”
“I’ve heard of a beach body, but this is ridiculous.”
“You’re not beating the weirdness allegations here, Knox.”
We drive on for a bit in silence.
“So were you and him ever more than friends?” I ask finally. I know I might be picking at a scab but I can’t help it. I keep trying to envision this mythical Cal, he whose name is worthy of utterance even deep in slumber.
“Me and Cal?”
“No, you and the guy from Hot Ones.”
“I wondered because I thought we’d moved on.”
“I’m just curious.”
“Curious, huh?”
“We’re driving. I’m making conversation. I’m getting to know you. Wouldn’t you wonder if I said the name Cal . . . purnia in my sleep?”
“Calpurnia? Yes, I would be very intrigued if you said the name Calpurnia in your sleep.”
“I don’t know! What’s the female equivalent of ‘Cal’?”
“I mean honestly it’s probably Calpurnia. I also feel like you could go by Cal if your name was Carol. That would be pretty cute, actually.”
“See this is why I’m so interested.”
“Why?”
“Because every time we start talking about Cal again, you take us on a tangent.”
“You know what’s something else someone could take?”
“What.”
“A hint.”
“Oh.” I hang my head, blushing and chastened. “Sorry.”
“Don’t be sorry! I was the one who invented this game.” Sylvie puts on her blinker and exits the highway. “But I’ll still answer your question because I want to move on from this and not have you obsessing: we were just friends.”