WHAT'S IN A FRIEND?
It was a given that I missed my friends in Arkansas.
Carl. Shaun. M. Dee. Lee. James. Glenn. Through countless misadventures and drama, my Arkansas friends had been there for me. I had also been there for them.
Granted it was not easy. I've been told through grapevines that my outward image was one of an ice queen. My friends, of course, knew and told others that it was just that an image. get past that, and the person within was one of the nicest loyal person they would even meet.
I figured when I moved to San Diego that eventually I would make friends. Three years in, and I could say that I had two friends...both straight. Or I would say what I considered a friend.
So for me, what did a friend make?
TRUST
One of my favorite quotes was from a comic book...specifically Uncanny X-Men # 315.
'Without truth, we have nothing.'
For some people, trust came quickly. to others, trust came slowly. When I first met people, I gave a little bit of trust. However, it was only over time that more trust was given. A lot of people are that way.
Brazil got a lot of trust. He was a fan of two of my favorite shows BUFFY and VERONICA MARS. When we weren't doing meditation exercises, chances were we were discussing all things Joss Whedon. Then we messed around...a lot. Who else could be closer?
For me, that ended the day Frenchman walked up to me. I had been happy to see him. The look on his face told me otherwise.
"What?" I had said.
Frenchman proceeded to tell me about some of Brazil's activities when I was not around him. What hurt me the most were two things. One was that it involved my coworker Art. I saw Art every day. We joked. We talked. Not once has he mentioned any 'interaction' with Brazil.
Two was that there was a witness to their...'interaction.' And the witness was Crossdresser Guy. He had been downstairs when the two...vanished. I had gone out clubbing with him. We joked. We've gotten drunk together. He had been in my face, begging for me to play his songs on YouTube. Not once had he said what he saw.
But Frenchman had.
If this was Arkansas, one of two things would have happened. One would be that my real friends would have told me. Second, none of that would have happened because...friends do not move on and/or around the people you been with. Real friends don't anyway. A true friend was someone you could trust.
That day I lost two people I considered friends...and discovered a true friend in Frenchman.
LOYALTY
It was not a hard concept to understand.
Glenn was a social butterfly. When we would go out clubbing in Arkansas, you could expect Glenn to be running around chatting up his friends, acquaintances, and crushes. mu mine was more on the music and dance floor. And most importantly, neither one of us was looking for drama.
Glenn's way of not having drama was the 'keeping your enemies' close technique. When Mr. Spiritual, a guy he loved who was more into everyone, but him, took him for a ride, Glenn put a smile on around him. I knew he was very hurt, but he didn't show it.
My way of not having drama was the 'to the point' technique. Life was much too short to have people around you you didn't like. therefore, it was not surprising when someone who did me wrong tried to talk to me, I shot them down with a glare or a witty line. If the hint was not gotten, I told them what I thought of them and moved on.
Glenn and I had different ways of coping. While we had issues with the others' coping, we respected it. We also stood by the other.
In real life, that would be called loyalty.
Case in point...
Mr. Spiritual was always a hot mess at the club. He was always shit faced drunk. He always threw himself at anything that move...except Glenn most times.
Including me...as evident by the arms that wrapped around my waist. I turned to see who it was, frowned, and kindly removed the arms. Mr. Spiritual looked dumbfound that someone was immune to his 'charm.'
"I love you, Diego," he slurred. "Why do you hate me?"
I glared at him. Did he really want me to list the reasons? Really? As if he had not hurt my best friend on multiple occasions? I looked down at my vodka tunic.
"Oh, look!" I exclaimed. "Empty. Bye."
I headed past him. Mr. Spiritual reached for my arm. I snatched my arm away. He reached out for me, aggressively. A struggle ensued, him winding up pushed into a wall.
Like I said, if I did not like someone, that someone knew. I didn't care if they wanted to have sex with me or not. You hurt my friends, I'll hate your guts.
"Oh, whatever," Glenn said later. "Just have sex with him."
"Why would I?" I countered. "You like him. I wouldn't do that to a friend. Besides, I hate sloppy seconds."
We laughed. There it was plainly stated. Glenn was my friend. If a person was your friend, you don't do something you knew would hurt them. You stood by them.
Another case in point:
The girls in Jonesboro...and some guys...had this code. If the girls met a guy they liked, the girl would call claim. 'Claim' meant their friends can't have them. In some cases, ever. If the girls were truly your friends, they respected that. They stayed loyal.
After the fallout from the Art/Brazil situation, my coworker Joel found himself in the unenviable role of only person Brazil would talk to. However, he was already told what Brazil thought of him...since as I stated I'm a 'to the point' person who cuts off drama quickly. Joel said he understood.
It sure didn't look that way when I saw on Hotel S's camera being too cozy with Brazil. It never looked that way when they would wrestle in front of me like they were BFFs when they were not. Most of all, it sure did not look that way when he would 'slip' and his activities, got exposed...which betrayed that he...for a friend...hanged out a little TOO much with Brazil.
My friend Tina's response to all of this:
'Not everyone who calls themself your friend knows what it means to be a true friend, and the intergrity of a good friend.'
Could Tina be right?
I talked to people all the time between my two jobs. I knew a lot of people over my three years here in San Diego. But people who I actually called friends?
Apparently when it came to people in California...her words were true.
THICK AND THIN
Being friends with me was not an easy thing to be. I could be self-absorbed or worse too involved. I suffered from bipolar depression. I could be stubborn.
And over the years, there had been trouble in my friendships. My friend Carl and I stopped being friends for a year due to going in different directions, climaxing in him backstabbing for my bitch of an ex-roommate. Glenn and I had conflict over how gays treated white versus black gays. My friend Lee and I argue over relationships. So did me and Cor...Ken...heck...any of my friends.
The most constant thing about me however was that I was a friend to the end type. That meant that through thick and thin, I would be there for my friends. They laughed; I laughed. They cried; I cried.
Maybe it was the fact that when I was 6 years old, my first friend betray me. And for a 6 year old...that hurt. I wouldn't wish that on anyone. I tried to be there as best I could.
It showed. I was there a year later after Bitch-of-Ex-Roommate broke Carl's heart. Through Glenn's drama with Mr. Spiritual, I had his back and gave him a sounding board. Lee and I were once in a car accident together outside of Memphis.
The point was that I set standards for myself for what a friend should be. And if I could be a selfish jerk and still be an excellent friend, I expected the same and nothing less.
People who could not be usually fell to my label of acquaintances. Or worse, they fell off my radar completely. I was a believer of Tina's words. It really wasn't that hard...now was it?
...IN THE WIND...
And that was how I saw what made a good friend. A good friend was someone I could trust. A good friend also knew how to be loyal and would be there no matter what.
Even if there were changes in the wind...
"Diego, how many friends do you have?"
I looked over at Frenchman. It was his last night at Hotel S. He laid across his bed, recovering from getting drunk. I had chosen to take a break from a drunken (and high) Brazil to see Frenchman. It was his last night after all...and he had been looking for me according to Joel. I sat against Frenchman's fridge, drunk and pondering his words.
"Truthfully?" I asked.
"Yeah," Frenchman answered.
Without hesitation I replied.
"Two."
"Two?"
"Two."
What I did not say was '...and one of them is leaving me.'
In most people's lives, change was constant. And my life was no different. With me, the people I winded up caring about left, leaving with people I never saw as good friends. So I always winded up alone.
It had been a month since Frenchman left. Meanwhile, the other person I considered a friend...Barsuk...had found a girlfriend and two (three?) booty calls. Both had become much two busy...and totally unaware when my bipolar depression kicked back in recently.
I was okay now. Focused on my own goals. However, I felt alone...friendless. but that was life. Change.
At least when I looked back someday, I could look at some of my memories of San Diego and smile.
Someday...
Diego
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