once when we were on the way home from the drive-in we stopped for gas, and he went in to get a bottle of water. he came out with a keychain for me. it was small, made of bendable rubber-type material, and detailed. it had a raised armadillo with a gunsling and a cowboy hat with "Texas" in the background and my name at the bottom. cheesy, but nonetheless sweet. especially for it being 2 o'clock in the morning.
i had surprised him for his "late" birthday. i borrowed my dad's truck and we met up with some of his friends. one of his best friends and his girlfriend to be exact. we were supposed to be watching "The DaVinci Code" but sat in the back of the truck drinking and laughing, talking too loudly to pay attention to most of the movie. we were lost, but in a good way, making multiple trips to the snackbar, giving piggyback rides, hikes to the bathroom. immaturity at it's best. the second movie was kind of funny and we were all more easily entranced. i fell asleep in his arms. buzzed and content. he said it was the nicest thing anyone had done for him on his birthday.
i took the keychain off tonight. sometimes you have those moments where you see something and it takes you back, back to when happiness was an assumption rather than a task, a given rather than a taken, and you can't concentrate for the rest of the day. so i took it off. but i made a mental note of exactly where it was. you know, just incase.