I don't think there's a single person on the planet that hasn't cried at least once in their life. It might have been from happiness. It might have been from sorrow. It might have been from pain. It doesn't matter. It still means you cried. I've cried many times... so many times I can't count.

Every time Joshua hits me, when I'm back late from class, and when he accuses me of cheating on him. When I realize I'm in a dead end relationship and I can't get out. When I lock myself in my room with Joshua's key so he can't get in. And he doesn't pound on the door or scream at me. He just sits and waits and doesn't say anything. And I know when I come out he'll just hit me again.

I cried when I ran away, with all my stuff in a couple of bags, out into the pouring rain. The sun was still in the sky, and it turned the rain all different colors... red, and orange, and gold. I watched it, from under the shoddy blue tarp, where a hobo used to sit, before he moved to a different spot. Or died. I couldn't remember. My tears and the rain mixed, and I couldn't tell them apart.

I had stopped crying by the time he showed up. He had just stood there, watching me. I knew he was there, but I pretended I didn't, shifting through my bag to find my music.

"You're fucking zetta pathetic."

I looked up, confused, trying to see his face through the rapidly dimming light.

"What?" I mused, trying to make sense of his words.

"Fucking. Zetta. Pathetic." he said again, and extended his hand.

I just stared at it for a long while.

"So, only humans can antagonize, hurt? Tears often alleviate." he mused, offering his hand again.

I took it, this time. "What the hell are you talking about?"

"Whatever, hectopascal. Just shut up and follow me. And take your stuff with you."

You know that none of my friends would have the guts to set foot in this bar?

Shiki doesn't even like bars. She'd rather go shopping. I asked Joshua if he wanted to come, and he just made up some stupid excuse. That's his typical reaction to things: make up an excuse to be somewhere else.
But I can always expect Beat to be at our usual table, every Saturday night.

He'll be sitting there, wearing his skull cap, with five empty bottles already on the table and three more on the way down. Maybe he'll have brought his pet ferret with him, despite the fact that the bartender always tells us 'No pets'. Maybe he won't. He'll glance up, not even fazed by the alcohol, and he'll get this huge, stupid grin on his face at the sight of me.

"Neku!" he'll call, waving like an idiot and attracting the attention of everybody else in the room. "Neku! Over here!"

And I'll be sitting down already laughing. That's the kind of thing that happens when you're around Beat. Everything he does and says is funny... at least, to me, it is. Beat can be so obnoxious it makes you flinch. He tells the dirtiest jokes I've ever heard. But he's still one of the best friends I've ever had.

First, he leans forward, all dramatic, like he's telling you a secret. "I heard this great joke today."

You settle in, because if Beat thinks a joke is great, you're in for a whopper.

"What do ninjas and soft core porn stars have in common?"

"No, what?" you say, dutifully, because he won't answer if you just shrug.

"You never see them coming!"

And suddenly you're both bursting out in laughter, and the whole bar is giving you weird looks, but you don't care. Beat can make you laugh and not care what anybody thinks. He's just that kind of crazy ass idiot.

Beat can be a complete moron. Maybe it's because he dropped out of high school to be a professional skater. He'll always have to go to the bathroom in the middle of the movie because he downs the soda in three gulps, the jumbo sized one that costs six dollars, and he insists that I come with him, just in case he slips and cracks his head on the rim of the urinal. That way, help will come, and he won't bleed all over the tiled floors. I don't care. We'll just buy the movie on DVD, and mute it, and make up lines for all the scenes, even the ones we missed.

We'll sit at the bar for hours, Beat with twenty empty bottles and me still on my second martini. Beat's still only in the first visible stages of being drunk: he's starting to shade his eyes from the light and he's got a goofy grin on his face. At twenty-five he'll sway from side to side when he walks me back to my apartment and he'll laugh so hard his throat will hurt. At thirty he passes out. We usually leave at twenty-eight. I'll have had a couple glasses of water with ice and maybe three martinis if I'm willing to risk a headache tomorrow.

I respect Beat, not only for his crazy drinking skills, but because... he's such a strong guy. I've only met Rhyme once, but she was so sweet, so self assured. And she told me that she respects Beat.
Beat taught me that you don't need a fancy life, fancy cars, all the things you've ever wanted, to be a cheerful and happy person. His parents never paid much attention to him, but he acts like that never happened. His group of skater friends took him in. I wasn't one of them, never was, but we got in jail together once. Me for vandalism (I call it art) and him for theft. My parents paid bail for both of us.

He introduced me to the group a couple days after. He just showed up outside of school with the whole gang. They were happy to meet me, but I could tell I didn't belong. Beat didn't care. He showed up alone. He'd take me to places where I could spray paint as much as I wanted. He let me do a custom skateboard for him, even the wheels.

He said that everybody was asking who had designed his new board. Where could they buy it?

I had asked him if he had said who it was. He just gave me this knowing smile.

"I'll never tell." he whispered.

We're walking home now, and it's dark. Beat is shouting about some new band he's listened to, some new trick he's learned, and he's mixing the two up so badly I can't help but laugh. Finally, we get to my apartment, and Beat puts a hand on my shoulder, and for a rare moment, he's completely sober.

"Neku." he says, and I stop laughing, stunned.

"Yeah, Beat."

"Don't leave before I do."

"What?"

"You're the best friend a guy could have. And I think without you... I wouldn't be able to smile again."

And I just give a small smile. "If I plan to jump in front of a car, I'll be sure to let you know."

"You do that."

And that glassy look comes over his eyes again, and he wanders off. I never worry if Beat will get home okay. Nobody would dare try to attack Beat in his drunken state. I don't think even a car could take him down. I pull out my key, trying to get it into the lock, fumbling in the darkness.

I'd never leave you alone, Beat. You're my best friend in the whole world.