JUST FRIENDS, STILL FRIENDS

We remember most love stories because of the way they end, but a few we never forget because of how they begin.

I was so, so young then. Freshman year, Introductory to Psychology class. The few people I knew in college were those I went to high school with, everyone else was new and fresh to me. So when I realized this one guy I sat beside in class couldn't stand me -- he might have even hated me -- I was thoroughly confused because we had no history but nothing in the present either. He was tall, lean, and lanky, but always hunched over, as if he wasn't accustomed to his own height and was trying to make himself appear shorter. His eyes were really small and if it weren't for his glasses that magnified them a bit you couldn't see the darkness in his eyes. Otherwise he seemed friendly -- he had an easy laugh and a low, pleasant voice and walked with an easygoing stride. As for me, people still often tell me they remember me being happy all the time (a guy once confessed he thought I was an airhead because I smile at everybody, including people I don't know).

When I realized this guy, B, had prejudged me based on stereotypes he had about "people like me", I had no desire to change his mind. And sometimes I even said or did things to further irritate him because they always worked. It was too easy, he really didn't want to like me at all.

But by now we had a common friend who thought we were both nice people and had no reason not to get along, and she always scolded us (separately, of course) about how stubborn we were being. Neither of us were convinced but for her sake we co-existed in a state of détente, where there was no real truce but no threat of war either.

Finals came and I was literally sick to my stomach and couldn't make it to class that morning. Our professor agreed I'd come in later in the afternoon when I might be more fit to take the exam in her office. I arrived early and sat on the bench in front of the cafeteria, where my friend was already sitting. B walked by and saw us (he later told me he was surprised to discover he felt sorry for me because I looked so pale and ghastly, he didn't think I'd make it through the day), and then he sat on our peacemaker's other side.

I don't remember my friend standing up and walking away, but soon B was sitting beside me and telling me what I needed to know in order to pass the test. I never asked him for help, he just knew it was what I needed. And I passed, I actually got an "A" to my surprise. Then he and I finally became friends.

When B fell for one of our other classmates, a breathtakingly beautiful angel with otherworldly hazel eyes, I thought I'd repay him by helping him win the girl. We talked on the phone almost every night and I gave him pointers, I tried to help him decipher the female mind. And when I was with her I constantly spoke of B's many virtues -- it was almost like I was in love with him, the way I talked about him then.

And suddenly one night B called to say he had decided not to pursue her anymore. They were too different, he said, and had little in common. I listened to all his reasons but felt he had simply given up. Still, I didn't try to dissuade him or tell him I thought he had chickened out, and part of me wondered why because I'd always felt like I was Sancho Panza to his Don Quixote. By now he and I were good friends and when he phoned the next evening we no longer spoke about her but about us and the things we both liked. And music -- it turned out we had both loved music our entire lives.

One afternoon while I was in English class, he stopped and stood just outside and passed a note to someone sitting by the door, my name was written on it. When I unfolded the scrap of paper, I discovered he had written the lyrics to a song I had recently heard and told him I liked. The girl who handed me the note observed my beaming face and remarked, "You really like this guy, huh?"

Uh, no. We're just friends, I said.

Summer came and B and I hung out all the time, we were inseparable by now. One ordinary day as I was sitting in the car on my way to his house, I was listening to a song on the radio and started to cry. It hit me: I really did like this guy. And we were friends -- but we were just friends. And when I got to his place, he soon said I was acting weird. I coolly explained I just wasn't feeling too well, but inside I was panicking (does he know? can he tell?). Later he casually put his hand over mine and held it there as he showed me something (I don't remember what it was now because my heart and brain exploded simultaneously at that moment and it was like I had blacked out).

One late afternoon during mid-summer, as we sat in the back of the car as he was taking me home, he pulled me close and I leaned on him. He softly kissed my forehead, my cheek, my chin, and -- whether it had been planned or was due to a fortuitous bump in the road -- my lips. It wasn't a passionate kiss, just really sweet and gentle. It must have lasted a second at most, but it seemed to go on forever in my mind.

The car stopped and I hugged him goodbye, opened the door, and ran out towards the house. Before the door closed behind me, I yelled out for Andrea, the exchange student from Oregon who was living with us then, bounded up the stairs two steps at a time, rushed into my room, jumped onto my bed and landed face up with arms outstretched. By then Andrea had followed me to see what the commotion was all about. "He kissed me!" I screamed and started laughing. Then I had a fever and was shivering all night.

We're still good friends, B and I, although we no longer see or talk to each other much anymore. But when we do it always feels like we were just together yesterday, except that perhaps we look a bit older now. He no longer wears his glasses although he still slouches (I can't help but try to straighten his back and as usual he ignores my efforts), and he actually grew up to become quite a handsome man, with muscles in places now where I only used to feel bones. We still both love music and once in a while we'll share what we're currently listening to.

Sometimes in my car a song willl play on the radio and will remind me of B, of how young we were then and of how much we were in love with each other. I'll find myself smiling so wide people might see me and think I was a fool. Not that they would if they knew what I was thinking.

Comments

[Cathy]

Lovely story, G!

[Gigi]

Thanks Cathy! It's funny how events that happened so long ago still seem so fresh sometimes. It's hard to believe he and I were such kids then. Anyway, I'm so grateful that our story both began and ended with friendship. It rarely does, 'no?

[bugsybee]

Just friends, still friends ... I think that's more beautiful than first friends, now no longer friends.

Why does this story remind me of the song, "Love means you never have to say you're sorry"? :p

[delish]

very beautifully written... but one of those d*amnening ones for not ending into something more concrete...

but then again, not all love stories end that way anyway... and maybe, for the better :)

[Gigi]

Hi Bugsy - So true, it's sad when you spend so much time getting to know almost everything about a person (and sharing the same about yourself), and then it ends up as if you never knew each other at all. There's really nothing but good memories for me so definitely no regrets! :)

Delish - Oh yeah, for sure! Especially since he and I eventually found our "happily ever after" -- but just not with each other. :)