My favorite flavor of Snapple is Strawberry-Kiwi.
Anyway, back toward the beginning of the semester I was having a rough day (it started off okay, my afternoon English class was canceled, I was working on...something, and making really good progress) and I went to get some lunch at the Pub. And the Snapple bottles they have there are glass, not the plastic ones like the cafe. The weather wasn't the greatest (windy, snowy, just plain nasty) and I'm carrying the take-out container and trying not to simultaneously freeze my hands off, and the Snapple slips through the crook of my arm and smashes on the sidewalk. So, I stopped at the bookstore and got some imitation juice type thing in a fruity flavor (definitely not the same) and when I get back to the room, I text him saying that I've dropped my Snapple. My day after that gets even better because I call my sister (whom I love and whom loves me) and tell her about a rather interesting thing that happened. (Lemme put it this way - my NY Yankee zip up pullover was my FAVORITE fashion item that week) And after much condescending and quiet angry talk in which she makes me promise never to do it again, I'm feeling all dejected and like I've done something wrong, something...dirty. Which just puts me in the state of mind of...well, what the hell. Em came over from next door and of course, I'm lying on the floor in the middle of the room (possible retreat back to my childhood?) and, because she's awesome, she gets down on the floor with me. Well, we ended up falling asleep there. Sleeping for about two hours, that is. Okay, so it was more like three but hey, we were tired and I had been crying and yeah. What wakes me up is my phone getting a text message. It's him. Downstairs, waiting for me to come let him in. I wake up enough to realize not only do I not want to get up, I'm not sure I want to have this conversation with him - about a lot of things really, that my sister matters to me but that I was also happy, happier than I had been in a really, really long time. So I tried reasoning that Em was closest to the door so she could go let him in. He solves the problem for us by waiting for someone to come along with a key and the next thing I know, he's filling my doorway and looking at Em sitting on the floor, me curled up on it, and he just knows that it's not going to be pleasant, that it hasn't been a pleasant afternoon. Em knows I'm in good hands and she goes back next door. He comes in, shuts the door, puts his backpack on my bed (actually made my bed some days) and simply lies down on the floor, shoulders against my mini-fridge, pulls a strawberry-kiwi Snapple from somewhere and puts it on the floor between us before taking my hand and squeezing to let me know that everything's going to be okay, that it'll get better and I can tell him anything.
I think we were on the floor for an hour.
And the hits just keep coming down memory lane today.
The Snapple stayed in my fridge until I moved out of the room.