Max is Leaving

I haven't written much about Max on this blog. I hoped I'd have all summer to do it, but I don't--just until the end of this month. Then he's leaving for the West Coast.

I am really unhappy about this. He's leaving, pretty much, because he and Quin can't get along. I don't know what happened--something got started on the night of the drunk garden party, I think, and it just never got better. Now Quin is talking about how he's indifferent to Max and how Max is like an inscritable void to him, how he can't understand him at all... and that he wants to throw a pizza party when he leaves.

I don't get any of this, which is why I'm up in my room, writing. Which is why I didn't find out Max was leaving until tonight, from Quin: because for the past few weeks I've been up in my room, writing.

I really am going to miss Max. He freaked me out when I first met him, but then I liked him. He had the same kind of slightly sneering, prank-playing, whip-smart outlook as Jaime--only he did things that Jaime never did, like bring me slices of avocado when he learned that it was both our favourite thing. It was like having a slightly annoying older brother--someone you were frustrated by because he always got the last word in, but I always knew was nothing malicious in him underneath all the layers and layers of laughing ironical jokes where he would pretend to be a chavenist or raceist or a conservative Catholic when he was really none of these things. We had a pillow fight just last night, poking and teasing one another like two siblings.

Maybe Quin just didn't get the joke.

Maybe I didn't get it either--whenever I hear any kind of opposite opinion on someone I like, it makes me stop, re-evaluate them. Which is good. But I've made mistakes often enough that I always wonder if I was just fooled into not seeing who they really are, rather than giving them the benefit of the doubt...no matter what I've seen with my own eyes.