Unlikeliest of friends
Every now and then I read something that puts me somewhere else. For some reason I could see this scene in my head. I smiled as I read the blog and then I remembered a night last spring.
There were times when we, we merry men and one girl before she became some girl, would bounce from one club to the next. One of the boys always drove, as cab rides were so ridiculously and insanely expensive in London. For some reason there was a night where the last two standing were Formerly Married Gay Man and Some Girl. I don’t know why, but that night kind of cemented our friendship. I think that was the first time we were out without the rest of the posse. In any case, the point of this story is to say that for the entire time it took to drive from point A to point B, about 30 minutes, I talked. I talked, and talked, and talked, and talked some more. May have had something to do with the drugs. I try not to question these things too much.
I remember looking at him and thinking he would like me to shut the hell up. I remember asking him if he would like to shut the hell up. I remember him looking at me and smiling. I remember the look in his eye.
Later I mentioned that night and he laughed. He knew exactly the night. He said yeah he was about ready to throw me out of the car but that he knew where it was all coming from and it was kind of cute. And he had that same look in his eye.
It’s that look you give your best friend when they make you smile, or feel better, or remind you of that time when you did that thing. It’s the look you get when you bring someone red wine instead of chicken soup, or organize a bonfire to dispose of all evidence of a past relationship, or when you hide a porn and toy collection before parents come to visit.
One day, many months after this talking jag, FMGM turned to me and said: “If I had just met you out I wouldn’t have liked you. I mean, I tend to hate chatty Americans. You all are so loud and obnoxious. When the boys told me about you I thought I would hate you.”
I just looked at FMGM and said: “I know. I am always surprised whenever you call me.”
FMGM had a habit of dropping out of society. He would have enough of the clubs, the drugs, the boys, the random sex, and the pretensions of the whole scene. Before we met and became friends, there would be months where FMGM would refuse to return calls and that was just the way it was. When he wanted to talk, he would get in touch.
The mutual friends who introduced us would complain that I always knew more about FMGM than they did. We were like an old married couple. We would pick and tease and insult and mock each other endlessly.
Sundays were our night. I would close up the pub at which I worked and we would go out to celebrate the end of the weekend.
I miss him so much.