Friend: a person whom one knows well and is fond of; intimate associate; close acquaintance -Webster’s Dictionary
You’ve known him for about a year. He’s just a guy you know. It’s not even like you know him that well. You talk to him sometime (he’s a good friend of some of your close girlfriends) and he seems really nice. Then you start talking a lot on the computer, about school and people and other silly things. Yes, the Internet seems to bring you closer to him. But he’s still just a guy.
December. That’s when things change. That’s when you realize that you’re suddenly and completely infatuated with him. It’s his talent. You hear him play Rachmaninoff (Prelude in C# Minor, No. 2, Op. 3). You like music. You’ve heard of Rachmaninoff, but you’ve never heard anything like this. It moves you. It glues you to your chair. You feel a deep ache in the pit of your stomach. This is real music, the kind you read about in books and heard about in Mr. Holland’s Opus. You never, ever expected him to play something that could change you. And you love it. You want to harness this, seal it in a jar, and keep it forever.
When you’re down, and troubled, and you need a helping hand, and nothing is going right, you just call up my name, and you know wherever I am, I’ll come runnin’ to see you again. -James Taylor, “You’ve Got a Friend”
Since December, you’ve been talking to him more and more and more. You like him a lot; you feel connected to him. You discuss Calvin and Hobbes. He says he likes your haircut. Things are going well; during your study hall and boring chemistry labs, you write him notes. For you, this is a Pretty Big Deal, because you don’t write notes to anybody.
You see him every day. After he gives you your daily note, you walk down the hall, clutching the paper in your hand like a precious treasure. You read it and can feel a smile creeping across your face. He’s younger than you, shorter than you . . . but none of this seems to matter. You find yourself falling in love with him. This is kind of a scary thought. You thought you were in love once. Maybe you were, but even now you’re not completely positive. This, though, seems so definite. This is all so wonderful, but it’s not quite happening.
Anyone loved can be lost. -Barenaked Ladies, “Falling for the First Time”
You can’t deny that you like him. But you like being single. You’ve only had one boyfriend in your life, and that was a very awkward situation. Your parents were just weird about it. Your friends were weird about it. All you wanted was to be with him, but not around anyone else. Other people watching you two made you feel very uncomfortable. But that relationship has been over for about three years. You are glad that this friend does not want to date you, and you know this because you are his primary counselor on the subject of his crush, a mutual friend of yours.
Things, of course, cannot stay this way. Things do not stay this stable when you are involved. You get the feeling that he likes you back. It starts in February, after Valentine’s Day; he tells you he doesn’t like what’s-her-face anymore. You worry. But at the same time, you are excited. What if something happens? You don’t think about ruining the friendship; this thought does not cross your mind because you are infatuated.
Please don’t touch me like that; [it] makes every other embrace seem pale and shallow . . . It just makes me want to make you near me always. -Jewel, “Near You Always”
Things have passed a point. Things have gone too far. You drive him home one night, and he gives you a hug goodbye. This is not unnatural; you two hug often. But this time, the hug lasts longer than usual. You sort of pull away, but then you let him pull you in and kiss you. You feel a sense of relief because after five months of tension, something has finally happened. Your body relaxes, and you kiss him back.
Driving home, face flushed and heart racing, you consider what has just happened. It felt wonderful. He was a very sweet kisser. His kiss is soft, unlike the sloppy messes that you have previously experienced. But somehow, things are worse than ever. What happens now? Do you become his girlfriend? Do you ignore it? You’ve never been in a situation like this before, and you’re pretty sure he hasn’t either. What can you do?
I was just wondering if you’d come along, to hold up my head when my head won’t hold on, and I’ll do the same if the same’s what you want, but if not I’ll go, and I will go alone. I need so to stay in your arms, see your smile, hold you close. --Dave Matthews Band, “The Stone”
In the next few weeks, you realize that, of course, you have no idea what you are supposed to do. You decide that you need to talk to him. But what do you say to the friend who you love but don’t want to hurt? The two of you have a few long discussions (re: arguments) about the status of your relationship. They’re big circles. It seems like you tell him that you don’t want to be anything more than friends, and you thought that was clear. He agrees, but then says that he has been “thinking” and the argument starts again. You are not happy. You wander as if in a foggy dream, not sure if you are his friend or his girlfriend or what. You go for an entire class period without saying more than two words. You cry.
He finally relents and says that he wants to be friends. You are flooded with relief.
In the next few months, you try to convince yourself that things are the same. You joke around with him, but it’s different. He’s not the same; he seems sad. You try to ignore this, telling yourself that everything is fine. For a while, this seems to be relatively true.
His birthday rolls around, and you decide to take him to dinner. In the car on the way to the restaurant, things are lovely, just like old times. Then you get to the restaurant, but you give him his present in the car because he doesn’t want to make a scene in front of everyone. You hand him the gift you painstakingly chose and wrapped: a copy of Tuesdays with Morrie, one of your favorite books ever. You give it to him and he smiles and hugs you and then kisses you. Again. Again you kiss him back, then pull away. At least this time you sort of considered the repercussions. He asks you what is wrong, and you spill it: you want to be his friends, and friends don’t kiss.
You’re not sure what happens next, but he assures that you two will stay friends and kisses you again and again.
Feels like lightening running through my veins every time I look at you. -David Gray, “Please Forgive Me”
You don’t know what to do. You don’t want to feel anything but friendship for him, but you do feel something tremendous. Then it happens. You go to his house to watch a movie, and naturally, you sit with him on the couch. Things are fine at first, but somehow you end up hugging him and he says softly, “Can I kiss you?” You panic, but respond by kissing him back as he leans in. The whole time you are asking yourself “Why am I doing this?” Maybe it’s because you are lonely. Maybe it’s because you love him. Maybe it’s because you love the idea of him. No matter what the reason, though, you don’t want this to continue because the kissing only seems to complicate your friendship. So you stand up and announce you have to leave, and that you are sorry for all of this. He looks surprised, yet oddly content, and he promises you that the friendship will remain a mere friendship. You don’t believe him. This relationship is more than that.
Driving home again, you feel those feelings: heavy guilt, intense anxiety, irrefutable love. You don’t want to hurt him, but you can’t stop loving him. It’s everything: you love the way he ducks his head when he laughs, and the way his hand squeezes yours when he says he loves you. You love the way he smells, and the way he kisses you very gently, and the way he makes you feel.
This has to stop.
Somebody tell my head to try to tell my heart that I’m better off without you. -Dixie Chicks, “Without You”
Enough is enough. Things cannot continue as they are. It is difficult to start a relationship when one of you is getting ready to leave for college. Don’t do it.
Sure, that’s easy to say that to yourself when you’re trying to fall asleep, but how do you tell him?
You talk to him almost every night, and almost every night you have the same discussion about how you want to be friends. He keeps “thinking” about everything, though. He keeps disagreeing. When you leave for college, things are not so different; you still fight with him at least once a month.
After one particularly severe argument, you sit down and write him a letter and have a good cry. You assert that this is the last time you want to bring this up. You want to be his friend. His best friend. You want to be Sally Albright and Harry Burns before everything happened between them.
He says that he agrees. Finally. And now you’re alone, but you have a friend.
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