disintegrating_friendship jane It all started when she got the Boyfriend. It was the middle of winter, and I wasn’t all that surprised that people were pairing off like penguins. I had my usual parade of suitors, but none of them were taken seriously (or took me seriously, for that matter). I was content with the meat, but I knew she was looking for something more. There was no meat for her—she was a Virgin. This was an obstacle in our friendship because my promiscuity wasn’t really discussed, or if it was, remained a delicate subject. She would have conservative views concerning sex, and I would write them off based on the fact that she hadn’t experienced sex at all, let alone fifty one-night-stands. I was fine with it the way it was, but every time a man left at the crack of dawn and I sat smoking a cigarette in the kitchen wrapped in blankets, she would give me that Look. You know, the “I’m concerned about you but I know we’re not allowed to talk about it” Look. It was not appreciated. She dated occasionally, which meant that she let men take her out to dinner once a year, and I really think she was looking for a father figure. She had a delicate young frame juxtaposed with a penchant for using humor as a defense mechanism. She once got drunk and made out with a stranger, but ended up seeing him later; it therefore didn’t count as a wild evening. She met Him at school. They both worked on the school newspaper: she was the photo editor, and He wrote the humor column. She used to complain to me that the newspaper administrators were riding her ass. I asked her if at least she was getting paid; she said no, and I told her to just quit then. She seemed upset at me for even suggesting such a thing, and I know now it was because she was too excited to be working with Him. They went out a couple of times disguised as business instead of pleasure. Then the day came when they had to take the trip upstate for the newspaper. Because the bus came so early, they decided it would be best for Him to sleep here, in her bed. I thought it was outrageous, and that she would either lose her Virginity or kick Him out of the house. Apparently plump guys with glasses are the unknown gentlemen, because they happily got ready together and went on the trip. She later told me she slept on His shoulder on the bus, and they held hands while they walked. I was supposed to be thrilled. After that day, they decided they were Boyfriend & Girlfriend, so that they could buy Hallmark cards designed especially for their relationship. For valentine’s day, He bought her the Vertigo poster (in Italian) that she had been dying for since the day I met her. Evidently she had told both of us the heart-wrenching story of how she lost the auction for it on E-Bay so many years ago, and had not been able to find one since. This really took the gift giving up a notch for me. Now I was going to have to find that ant movie she had seen as a child and had been trying to find since before I’d known her. While they were chatting in the living room adjacent to my room, I tried to intimidate their celibacy by having my lovers spank me hard on the ass and moaning abnormally loud. I was hoping this would make them hyper-aware of the fact that this was nothing like anything they were doing, and perhaps to turn Him on a little so he would just pounce on her. If she lost her Virginity, we could finally talk about It—even though she would then be in the limelight, losing her V-Card and all. One evening, I was told that His Roommate was eager to meet me; the Couple had spoken highly of me. So the guys brought over three six-packs, and she and I bought three pizzas. We talked a lot, laughed a lot, and played video games, until it was late, and the Roommate suggested more beer. The Couple said that they were fine, but I said I could drink more (as always). He went and got some more beer while the Couple rolled their eyes simultaneously to signify that they were on the same team. She had to get up early the next day, and He wasn’t planning on being a part of that, so she went to bed while the Roommate and I drank more and played more video games. His eyes turned redder and redder, and finally the Roommate told Him that he would be all right getting home by himself. Later, He would tell me that this meant, “go home now.” He left, and the Roommate and I were left alone in the living room. In primitive terms, the male and female alone in a room is usually pretty straightforward. At some point, the video games were turned off, and we started talking. We talked about what we were like in high school, and we talked about how we write, and how things we do don’t seem to fit in any category except that of the uncategorizable. We talked until 8 in the morning, an hour after I closed the blinds and laughed about how we didn’t need to know what time it was because that was just depressing. I felt it was unfair for him to have to go all the way uptown at such a horrible hour to be alive, so I subtly invited him to sleep in my bed, warning him that I had the habit of sleeping topless. He told me he didn’t mind. In my bed, we talked more; with the lack of windows, there was no concern for time or light. He touched my breasts while we were talking and asked if it bothered me. “Not a bit,” I said. It was too casual to be encumbering. We finally went to sleep. He didn’t snore (another story in the works of how many good ones I’ve had to get rid of because of their snoring), and the speakers didn’t pick up on booming frequencies like they sometimes do. He left at noon, and promised me with blue eyes that we would see each other again. Now, I don’t understand what it is about Coupledom that makes these people think they’re above the world, but for some reason, this is a common misjudgment on their part. Actually, it wasn’t Him that was getting on my nerves—it was her, the artist formerly known as my Best Friend. At this point, she was treating me the way she treated our other roommate, dealing only with business, like rent or dishes. As for our other roommate, I caught them actually chatting in her room. She used to hate her more than me. I tried to instigate something by reporting to her a line the other roommate had said about her. Instead of saying, “What a bitch,” like she normally would, she said, “Well, that does sound like something I would say; I’ll give her credit for that.” This was not the friend I once laughed with. As for that matter, I hadn’t made her laugh in quite awhile. Apparently He was the only one who could do that now. I recall their more romantic nights (nights of me suffering insomnia), when I could hear them kissing loudly through what we once called walls. Her chuckle, something I could no longer invoke, would sporadically hit my medulla with a crash of pain and loneliness: I was no longer the one with whom she laughed. As if to counter my previous attempts at intimidation, they would turn the TV loud at the more vocal pornographic scenes. I would be alone in my room, writing, and their tactics were quite effective. Will you just turn the porn down? I thought loudly to myself. Can you just turn your relationship down? As time went on, it occurred to me that laughing wasn’t the only thing we weren’t doing together anymore. We used to go out together at least every other weekend. Now I hardly saw her; any free time she had was devoted to seeing Him. Between school, work, and Him, there was no time left for me. However, I could have dealt with that. Of all people, I am certainly sympathetic to the Busy Schedule. The part that bothered me the most was how any interaction we did have was hazed over with this attitude she had, like she hated me and hated talking with me. Our dialoguing was a burden to her, and anything she had to say to me was said in such a crude, hurtfully indifferent way. It killed me to have her change so drastically. I really liked Him, and it bothered me to have to blame Him for this hideous transition she had displayed. The other odd part was how she would only be my friend again when it was the three of us, the Couple and me. For some reason His presence gave her the ability to speak to me nicely, to say things like, “You would just love this movie!” How would you know what kind of movies I even like anymore, I thought. You haven’t been my friend for weeks. Sometimes when he was around, I would say something amusing, and He would laugh, and I think somewhere inside of her gave her permission to laugh as well: I guess if He’s laughing. This was the only way it could happen. I wondered often if He noticed her performance of anti-friendship, and I wondered if they ever talked about me. Probably not, I figured. They had a lot of Couple’s Issues to deal with, and as we’ve already covered, there was no time left for me. 050305 ... phil Damn it dude. Serg hasn't called me since we got married to his girlfriend. How I hardly new her, I wasn't his friends or brother's friends just because I was his friend. He was the only friend I seemed to have. And now it seems I don't have any. It was a slow transition, everytime we got together it was to do something boring like run or eat and I know the difference between that and hanging out just because we were friends. It bothered me because I needed someone I could trust, my emotions were beyond my control. Now trusting seems even further away from me than it ever was before. He moved once, and that slowed us down. He no longer lived jsut up the street so we did something every week instead of everyday. I don't consider him responsible just because we used to be friends. It's my fault, I hadn't grown into it as quickly. Then he started working alot and often I would have to call, and wait a day to get the call back. Now there is never a call back. That happened at a real low point as far as phone calls and uncaring people go. I know I can't stay mad at him and if I said something it would be foolish. Can't change anything. I am just nice to the wife and don't try and claim any of his time for myself. I am sure in the end he will always be my friend, at least I know him well enough to understand. The timing sucked though. Couldn't be worse. It feels like it's my fault, now I don't want to hang out or take on anyone, for fear of getting hurt. It is funny how you never run out of hidden memories. Things you felt like doing but didn't, that are kind of holding you down. You never run out of 'em. Important things you've forgotten. 050305 what's it to you? who go blather from