This age is too young to be married, if you ask me.

Am I jealous? Cynical? Upset?

Maybe, I am not sure.

How would you react when you find out that your best friend gets engaged to some Jesus-fearing, Christian after only dating her for one month?

Would you be happy for him? For them? Would you support his decision, regardless of how stupid it seems to you?

I am 20-years-old. So is he. I ask myself, “What the fuck is the point of getting engaged at the ripe, old age of 20-years-old?”

I look back on the past summer I spent with Andrew. All the times we played our guitars on my back porch, sipping beers and talking about life under the same New Jersey sky that we had lived under all our lives. Those times at work when we sat around with our “advisor” Ron at Finch Park and talked about dirty prostitutes and hard drugs and Sebrett hot dogs. That time when he, Mike and myself went to Ocean City, New Jersey and played our guitars a few hundred yards from the Atlantic Ocean and got insanely hammered on Molson beer and talked about life wile swearing like truck-drivers. Those times when we went on drives late at night just to listen to good music and smoke cigarettes, just because we could.

I look back on this summer as an amazing summer -- a summer of friendship. I have been best friends with Andrew since 5th grade, and when I look into the future, I see us being best friends when we are both, old, decrepit 85-year-old men.

But now I look forward to next summer, our last summer before our senior year of college, with Andrew and I see a friend who is engaged. A friend who won’t drink because his fiancé doesn’t approve of it. A friend who won’t smoke because his fiancé won’t approve of it. A friend who has no insight into conversations about life because he is engaged and happy and in love. A friend who seems blinded by the fact that in one year he is going to be 22 and married.

Am I jealous? Yes.

Do I fear change? Yes.

Do I fear the future? Yes.

Am I too nostalgic for the past? Yes.

Do I just want my best friend back? Yes.

I wish I could just say, “Congratulations man. I am really happy for you.” But I can’t. I can’t say anything to him; I can’t fake my happiness.

I can just avoid him until I can’t avoid him anymore; until I can pretend that I am happy for him; until I can fake a smile, a hand shake, and a congratulations.

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