My New Best Friend

 

He is yet to know me. And yet he possesses an immense ability to fathom how I feel. For all he knows, he doesn’t need to know my heart and soul to notice how I dilapidate my every single meal or how my face contorts as I hammer away at my very limited driving skill. I have not yet mustered up the courage to explicitly announce my fervid affection for him without immediately nullifying every word that comes out of my mouth. He doesn’t seem to mind it or so I covertly hope. The level of formality between us seems to subside and yet in his calculated Machiavellian moment he makes sure to let me know the reason he does not want to see me is because he does not want to intrude in my life knowing that it irks me. He does not believe in palaver but I do. He desires an all-embracing relationship or else he would not even consider you his friend. I am more forgiving and accepting and I can consider anyone I chime with, a friend. That makes our definition of friendship a far cry from each other like night and day. But that does not mean I am open and non-private and he is my flip side. When he learns to accept me for who I am, he will become conscious of how similar he and I both are. I could just be a tad bit more private than he is.

I believe less in permanency of friendships perhaps just as a defense mechanism like the sea cucumber that can literally take on different body states – from hard to liquid – in order to defend itself. I am unable to take to gospel any social affection. But that does not, by any means, imply that I am phlegmatic and unresponsive. Sometimes, I wish it was possible for me to be standoffish and unfeeling because that would be a spitting image of someone who does not believe in a philosophy that closeness is meant to last. I would yearn to tell him my story, without having the fear of being judged by him. But, I do not know him commensurately unaware of whether he would swallow it or not. I remain comfortable in my zone. I am untroubled with my relationship with him even though it took me 30 days to make him feel the same. I don’t know what to call this relationship yet. Yesterday, he remarked that I could officially adopt him as my brother in an extravagant festive manner. I could tempt fortune by declaring that his remark was an act of buffoonery but for a moment I aspired in utopia hoping he meant every word of what he said. I care for him as if he were my blood brother especially since that page in my life is blank like a clean sheet of paper. I have no business feeling that way. If he walked out of my life today, I would be devastated and I would draw myself under my own hat sequestered and withdrawn, again. And yet I live in the moment for once adamantly refusing to believe that anything could possibly go wrong with this liaison, between him and me. For once, I feel I could live vicariously and that would suffice my human condition. I feel maybe I would know him all my life.

I don’t know if I can forget him, now that I know him. His likes and dislikes are embedded under my skin as if they were my own. Who knew a boy who emphatically postulates that opening up to strangers is a crime and deserves punishment would peel like an onion with ease. Years from now, hoping he and I are still connected, I would remember how he detests cheese on anything but eats pizzas, how he only wants to eat hamburgers with no cheese and fries with mayonnaise when he steps out of his 30 square feet room and hot pockets if you would ask him to buy for himself in a grocery store. I would not forget the one common behavioral thread between me and him when it comes to him cleaning his little room as if there was no tomorrow because he can see germs and bacteria in anything and everything around him. He calls me a spy but he asks me if I am wearing socks as I talk to him on the phone just so he could feel connected. He searches for a reason in everything and he is never mollified with insincere clarifications when I attempt to break the news with headlines of what makes me humorless. His favorite color is blue, light blue on his dream Ford Mustang that I pray he owns soon. He does not consider anyone his “real friend” here in his new country of temporary residence.  His idiosyncratic and yet poignant nature is addictive as he feigns an unmoved demeanor. But I, now, know that he can be easily stirred into a fist of emotions as he is quick to culminate his sentences with phrases such as “Now there’s nothing you can do. Its too late” or “You were my friend one minute back until you said what you said. I thought you were optimistic and now you say your life will continue as is, if we were not friends tomorrow?” or when he catechizes with a melancholic and half-hearted voice “You say you have nothing to do with my life?” as I bashfully defend myself in a hurried state of conversation after giving him advice on how to evaluate his 12 year old friendship. He could build an institution where he’d teach you how to effectively enquire about other’s lives and how to supplicate people’s good humor. I insist on him refraining from such behavior only to urge his instinctive nature of voluntary discourse. He does not realize that he does that already when he tells me what his girlfriend likes and dislikes about what he does do and he does not. It is also possible that he does not consider me worthy of his monologue. That would not be surprising considering we have only known each other for 30 days, maybe 31 if you want to be precise. But, then again, there are times when he completely astounds me by not asking further details when I expect him to.

He finds comfort in knowing I feel his absence and care about his presence but he would never categorically tell me. Moreover, he is supercilious about what he considers fact that I could never be affronted by him or anything he does even when he candidly tells me that he put nose drops for babies in my eye instead of eye wetting drops. I itch to tell him how I understandably enjoy his personal touch of asking questions and agreeing to accept my gifts and what he thinks is act of kindness and what I consider participating in his life. Our worlds are colorfully heterogeneous and unconventionally at odds with each other. Our languages have no similarity not even the gender association with a simple thing such as music.

I would never tell him my childhood stories knowing how he might have a good laugh at my expense. This does not mean that I do not enjoy it when he laughs. In fact, when I see his smile as his conspicuously dried lips stretch noticeably it makes me smile always. But I don’t know if I would ever express that unequivocally either. He knows it already. He knows how he is my favorite clown in spite of me finding ten different areas of personality improvement that I shamelessly declared just a few days back. He would never place confidence in my eccentric views.

As he sits in his 30 square feet apartment today, I imagine him glancing over his scribbled notes or thinking about his stocks bubbling with entrepreneurial spirit. He must do this on the side to keep his sanity in this devoid of emotion strange land, wondering what he would eat for his next meal. Or it is naturally possible that he is contemplating how to clean his already clean apartment. I find solace in knowing that he is there, safe and sound away from harm that could come upon him. I find peace in knowing that I am his friend and that someday I would be his “real friend,” insightful that he is more than just a mere friend to me.