I've only ever met her once. That is to say, I have only ever spoken to her, face-to-face and sober, on one occasion. There are the few times in town when I endeavoured to make contact. Those don't count, and I'm sure she would agree. Ours is a relationship built on a certain trust - or mistrust, I suppose - that we share with one another about the world. Our friendship is an act of solidarity between two kids who didn't ask for the cards to be dealt the way they were, but who are still at the table playing our hand anyway. We are so very similar, yet markedly different.
There are those who are aching to know who she is; to be clued in to her story. I will never tell it. She might never tell it. That is her peace to make, in her own way. All I will say of her is that she is strong. Remarkably so. She is someone I have the utmost respect for. She is, if truth be told, perhaps the finest person I have met in terms of her mental fortitude and unwavering constitution. These words are written without need for validation or critique. They are written because they are the opinion of the author, and that, you chirpy morning birds, means they are truth. They do not come attached with extra pressure for her to be a certain person or behave in a certain way. They are written merely to reflect what I see in her.
Therefore: forget trying to find rebuttals, kid, and just read quietly.
Those of us who have great friends know that it is not easy to sum a person, or to account for why we share such a bond. Often it is the undercurrent of a friendship - the words not said and the looks not given - that forge the hardened iron of partnership between comrades. Our friendship has been a strange mix. An unlikely alliance, to be sure, but one which feels to me like it is right. Maybe what we both needed was somebody who could see the good in us, and overlook the bad. Maybe it was the bond that comes from being kids left behind by somebody who never should have left us. If there is one thing neither of us will ever do, it is follow in the footsteps of those who treated us that way. And it is humour, I must say. There is nothing better than a friend who can bring a smile to your lips when it seems for all the world that you will never smile again.
Physical beauty is such a perplexing issue in a male-female friendship. I want to make it clear that my admiration for her is based solely on personality traits. This is despite the fact that she is beautiful. There will be many men who fall in love with this girl for the way she looks. Many more for her radiant personality. I am resigned to the fact that even if this was what I wanted, it couldn't be. This emancipates our friendship from those awkward shackles and frees us to evolve as friends and equals without a pall over our heads. I can't honestly say it wouldn't be a beautiful thing if we two found in each other the things we are looking for. I can, however, say that I will not tread on the toes of anyone else to achieve this unless it is expressly obvious that I should do so. My respect for her runs deeper than any shallow physical current.
And I can't really say what possesses me to write these words at two in the morning. It is a calling. An itch in me that these words scratch. My gratitude needs to be put onto a page because I cannot hug her to say thank you. Much as I wish to...
Who is your most unlikely ally?
I wrote that on March 17, 2009. I didn't publish it until now because I didn't know how to; or whether I should do so. I've come to a loving, though baleful conclusion: you should know the way I felt then. The way I still feel now. This wasn't written for you, but for me.
That sets it apart, Freckle.
So take stock of these words, my friend. See them for what they are. I am in your debt still. I love you so very deeply.
How much money would you save if you didn't need a bank account?
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