Jeremiah

Jeremiah and I hang out pretty much every day. It’s been this way for as long as I remember. When we were little we played tag and hide and seek. As we’ve gotten older, though, it varies. We often end up under a tree at a park to read.

“What are you reading today, J?” I look over to him thumbing through a book.

“The book you last read, it's pretty good. Thanks for the rec’.” he responded without looking up, not noticing me rolling my eyes.

“You know I kind of wonder if I’ll ever be the one on the other side of a good recommendation. I find it impossible that you don’t read anything I don’t tell you to.”

“What can I say? You’ve got good taste.” he said dryly, parroting the same sarcastic response he always has to this topic. I squint at him in annoyance.

Jeremiah is pretty weird, which I usually attribute to him being homeschooled. My parents don’t seem to approve of him. It's always awkward when I ask if he can come over for dinner.

“I think you should find some more friends, get out more.” my mom would say, which never really made sense to me. I do get out. Besides, other kids don’t really like me. They naturally avoid me and I always get weird looks.

I remember one time when I was younger. I was taking a break from playing wood chips with Jeremiah at a local park, talking to this other boy and asked him if he wanted to play with us.

“Us?” he asked.

“Yeah, with my buddy Jeremiah.” I clarified. He looked confused and refused politely before leaving. I stopped talking to people about Jeremiah after that.