Kazza’s Reviews > The Anatomy of Perception > Status Update

(Really, Dane. You are a prize arsehole. Craig, your boyfriend, is worried about his mum but you put it back on him and then you and Sabrina, which he is justified in being upset and wanting answers about. Just put it back on your boyfriend AND bitch about patient's families getting in the way. I'm out!

His eyes flashed. "She has a thing for you, Dane. You told her you're gay, introduced her to your boyfriend, and suddenly her eyes lit up. You're not her friend; you're her plaything. Am I mistaken that she grabbed your ass when I took that photo?"

(Honey, I have news for you, she is "vapid and shallow." And I'll throw in my own adjective - narcissistic. Every single thing I don't like in a person.)

We each thought we'd known the other inside and out, but I was wrong that he was always sunshine and light, and he was wrong about me being well adjusted and unflappable. It was awkward and jagged, the lack of communication loud and judging, as though every second not filled with words had the potential to crush a fragile tendril of hope.

"I want you to wear that ring on your dick all day, so only you and I know each other's secrets in front of all those people calling you Doctor and respecting you for putting yourself through school and asking where you're going with your life. We'll know the real answer. Craig's ass. That's where you'll be going later."

Craig showed me to look a little farther up the stem, because above the thorns was the bloom, breathtaking and absolutely attainable if one just opened their eyes and reached higher. Before Craig, I'd been existing. He'd shown ne how to live.

Craig was my world, my wide-eyed, optimist artist, the man who'd flirted with me for six months by chalking my face all over the city before we had a single date. He gave me his passion, his openness. His eager and hopeful disposition burst from him, obliterated my cynicism, and lit the dark of my past.

(...)"For me, he had a special hatred, since I'm the spitting image of my mother, who died in a car wreck when I was four."
"Wow, finally going to tell me about your family? he asked sarcastically. Except if you're going to start at age four, we're going to be here a while, and I don't have the time." He stood and drained his water. "You know where the door is."

That night, and the picture commemorating it, would become one of my favourites, especially later, when those three would be the only friends I had in the world, and everyone else in my path would have been obliterated from my life.