“My friend Joe” by Sasha in a bunk at Camp Fircom

Saturday October 6, 2018
11:02pm
5 minutes
His Hands
Mary Jane Nealon

I used to have a friend name Joe.
Then things went really fucking wild and I can’t exactly say that we’re friends anymore.
See in my world, when you’re going to do something radical, or you do something radical, if it impacts someone else, someone you care about, someone who is your f-r-i-e-n-d, then you give ’em a heads up.
Shoot them a text even.
Doesn’t have to be something scary like a phone call or a face-to-face.
A text.
Is not.
Hard to send.
So it makes me think about how this guy, this Joe, is not made of the stuff I thought he was.
Maybe none of us are.
Or we learn as we go.
As we fail.
As we fuck up, fuck people over, choose what matters.
I’ve had almost a year to reflect on how I could’ve done things different.
There are so many things I could’ve done differently then.
Now though? Now I think about my old friend Joe and I wonder what would happen if we ran into each other on the street.
What would Joe say?

“My friend Joe” by Julia on the 4

Saturday October 6, 2018
5:57pm
5 minutes
His Hands
Mary Jane Nealon

My friend Joe became
my boyfriend Joe at the end of the 12th grade. I liked the way his arms looked while driving. I liked that he knew how to use the barbecue.
when I went to university I stayed with Joe even though I no longer wanted him.
One of the first days there I made eye contact with the coolest guy I had ever seen. His name was also Joe. I wanted this Joe instead. I wanted to know everything about him.
There were a couple others I started to like before I told the first Joe that we needed to break up. There were also a couple of crying episodes in my dorm room. Not me. Him. This was the same guy who knew how to use the barbecue.