Second Missive

So, Barry.

We had kind of a smackdown, my friend and I. I pushed her, she fell down, I dogpiled her, she laughed while I pinned her to the ground. She just kept laughing, which added just enough salt to a sweet victory to make it even sweeter.

At least that’s how it played out in my head.

We have these moments. We walked to the the post office. It was around 10PM one day last week. We talked like we always talk. It was nice, a familiar walk with a familiar friend. She mentioned how her boyfriend wanted to talk to me, somehow gain a best friend’s approval for their getting married.

We’ve cried together. I’ve cried a lot. This isn’t even about me.

I did get to talk with her boyfriend on the phone, last Friday. She put him on speaker, and I got nervous, and I said as much, and then I couldn’t engage in small talk, and then I sort of shut down. Barry, I must say, your accent is very cute.

I don’t know. I usually don’t have trouble having conversations, but I felt pressure of some sort, expectations.

It’s fine, Barry. I still like you, and I still really want to visit you. I also like him, the boyfriend. He’s great: intelligent, funny, righteous, treats my friend like a queen. Again, I must thank you for helping make my friend so happy. I really only want to see her happy.

Maybe I’m just really going to miss her, and I’m having trouble dealing with it. I don’t know what to do.

I only want to be supportive and encouraging. I want to be positive and forthcoming and honest.

I hope I have been.


A little discussion.

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