We walked along the sidewalk, side by side, two or so feet between us. The distance was comfortable: close enough to touch, yet a certain area of personal space remained. Our eyes looked at the concrete ground, at the view in front of us, at the people walking by, rarely meeting the companion walking alongside. The atmosphere was friendly, sometimes awkward, not familiar enough to be completely comfortable, and yet not unfamiliar enough to be overly formal. The conversation was casual, sometimes silly, sometimes stupid, sometimes random. And sometimes, a silence would find its way between us, and I would not know what to say.We were almost-friends, that strange, uncertain ground, that unfamiliar terrain, an unpaved country road we travel between unconcerned acquaintances and actual friends.
I knew that he didn't dislike me. If he really didn't like me I knew he wouldn't even bother talking to me, that he would find some way to avoid my unwelcome company, or at least would not talk to me as much.
But then, I didn't really know too much about my almost-friend. How could I? Our conversations were varied and rather impersonal, casual to the extreme. I felt awkward, uncomfortable at this friend-making business, unsure of what I should do next. The making of a new friend was not an everyday event in my life, and the making of a new friend of the male species was even scarcer than that.
Somehow, I felt that the usual conversational questions would not really suffice in this case, that all of the usual things we ask such as "what type of music do you listen to" were really all too cliché to be used, and I should say something more original than that. But what? I had thought over it so many times. And each time I could not think of anything interesting enough, anything original enough, or anything the least bit close to giving the effect I had in mind. Alas, my wit was gone. My sarcasm, my originality, my humor, my irony – all drained away in one moment of insecurity.
I wondered how some people could shine magnificently in any occasion. Some people were just so good at holding up conversations with people they didn't know well. They could just grab a random person off the street and talk for hours. How? I wondered. How are they able to do that?
But then again, I thought with a wry smile, I never really liked talking with people like that. Most of the time the so-called "conversation" is one-sided, with that one socialite chattering so constantly and rapidly that you can't get a word in edgewise, and all you're able to do is nod and smile, wishing all the time he or she (usually she) would just stop. Of course, they don't. But with any luck either they'll get bored with you and go away on their own, or you'll find some way to leave them yourself. So I guess I was lucky there, in the fact that I am most certainly not one of those people whose company I usually find quite insufferable. And with my luck comes the luck that my almost-friend would not have to suffer through the company of me if I was one of those people who I find insufferable myself.
But it still does not solve my problem of tongue-tied-ness. Nothing will, really. I can only hope that someday, somehow, I shall be able to beat this overwhelming and terribly stifling awkwardness that is characteristic of that almost-friend stage. And until then, I shall keep my chin up and do my best. Maybe I'll even ask some of those cliché conversational questions. As a last resort, of course.
And so I guess we'll keep walking for a while, our conversations still casual, the atmosphere still friendly, sometimes awkward. But each step, no matter how faltering, will take us further along that uneven road towards actual friendship.
