coming out of draft

I’m going through my drafts and trying to cull them — either trashing them or fleshing them out or something. This was from 5.9. 09. Some of these are so interesting to me — I know who this is about, but I have no clue 1. what spurred me to write it, or 2. where I was going with it. I definitely think I can use it for a novel or something.  Anyway, it’s a good character study. And really, I guess it could apply to a lot of my former friendships. But I definitely associate it with one person in particular. He’ll always be a piece of work. And just thinking about him makes me smile, so it’s definitely “all good.”

 

We made people uncomfortable with the way we fought. It always started from some trivial little thing, some stupid little piece of conversation turned ridiculous, like when you cut yourself shaving. Everything is going along smoothly and the next thing you know, you’ve got blood running from your face, your leg. There’s a sharp sting. You’re wincing and you’re not even sure where the pain is coming from. You see the blood, but you can’t see where the blade has nicked the skin.

It was like that with us. One moment we’d be talking about summer, the next moment, baseball and justthatquick we were in some huge fight about feminist politics and men in sports and women who wore their shorts too short at the game. And it just went downhill from there. We weren’t quiet about it, either. I’d go on, gesticulating wildly, and he was tall and made no bones about shouting me down once in awhile.

They say birds of a feather. They say opposites attract. Sometimes, I think we were both. People were horrified to see us go on. That was the other thing — we both didn’t really know when to quit, we loved an audience, and we just couldn’t not be right. We just had to win.

The most amusing part about it all was that we weren’t really fighting. For as right as we both thought we were and for as impassioned and important we thought our opinions needed to be and for all the energy and action we gave them, we both implicitly knew that there was no argument here. This was a game. This was a distraction. This was something fun to do. There’s no use in pushing someone’s buttons if nothing happens. You’ll eventually stop flicking a light switch if the light never turns on.

There were times when I asked myself if there was something more there than just friendship. Didn’t this David/Maddie, Sam/Diane, Han Solo/Leia shit always pan out to mean that there was some sort of romantic interest there? Didn’t that constant bickering mean something? Wasn’t it even as simple as a 5th grade equation? Boy likes girl, shoves girl?

I explored these things. He wasn’t my type. We weren’t alike. He wasn’t the kind of guy that would listen to me. He wasn’t emotional enough. We weren’t on the same page. He was too much into practical things. He thought sex solved everything. He couldn’t ever be serious about anything. He always made light of everything.

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