My Brother's Best Friend

Have you ever fantasized about fucking someone whose name you didn’t even know? Completely losing your inhibitions in a stranger’s bed because you’re craving just one place where there are no suffocating expectations?

I have.

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Have you ever wondered what made someone first look at a weed plant and think, “Yeah, I wanna smoke that?”

Bro whattt?

I had been tirelessly rehearsing my lines for the university’s upcoming production of Beetlejuice, critiquing my every minute facial expression in the mirror, when the text arrived.

I raised a curious eyebrow as I studied the perplexing message. And suddenly, the question at the forefront of my brain wasn’t if I should play a scene enraged or hysterical, but rather, who the mysterious sender was.

The spot that should have held a contact name was filled with digits instead. A stranger.

What indeed, I thought, running my fingers across the glossy screen of my cell phone.

Who is this? I quickly typed out, unable to deny the allure of the cryptic.

Dots danced on the screen while I awaited the response.

Oh. My bad. Haha. I thought I was messaging my boy.

Puzzle solved, I mused to myself. It’s a wrong number.

I was about to discard the device back on to my bed when a pull prompted me to reply instead.

Yea, you have the wrong number. But that’s such a random thought. However, if you’re curious, I’ve never once wondered that.

The response was nearly instant.

Then you need to live a little.

I wanted to be insulted. Knew it was my given right by the Constitution of the United States to exercise my free speech and hurl a comeback of my own if I so chose to do so.

Probably just some stoner smoking a blunt, is all.

But then my gaze wandered over to the open script that would occupy me for the majority of the weekend. Perhaps, whoever that stranger was on the other side of the screen wasn’t wrong.

However, the hours of isolation spent holed up in my bedroom, poring over screenplays and practicing mannerisms would pay off when I became an acclaimed actress.

When I was surrounded by flashing bulbs, roaring applause and glamorous parties, then I would be truly living.

My phone chimed with another incoming message.

I have these kinds of thoughts all the time.

I sat down at my desk, intrigued by the mysterious someone behind the words. Perhaps, the puzzle wasn’t solved after all.

They had my full attention now. I couldn’t resist sending just one more text.

Really? What else do you have floating around in that brain of yours then?

The dots appeared, and I found my stomach fluttering as I anticipated the next batch of nonsense.

Perhaps, my night was going to shape up to be a little less dull.

But then the dots faded away.

Silence.

Blowing out an exhale, I tossed the phone onto my bed, brushing aside the disappointment. Oh well, what kind of excitement could I honestly have expected to occur from a wrong number anyway?

But then my screen lit up. I pounced on the mobile device, completely forgetting about the script I had been rehearsing.

Monologues could wait for once. The play didn’t need to consume every waking aspect of my life.

A bubble of exhilaration swelled in my chest as I opened the next string of thoughts.

But then reading the words, I suddenly froze.

Just like that, my night had turned into a mystery novel that I couldn’t seem to put down.

Actually, I do have one more random thought for you. How do I confess to a girl that I’ve been in love with her for years?