Shorthand

One of my oldest friends called me yesterday morning at 5 a.m. his time, hopped up on cocaine and unable to sleep.

About 10 to 12 years ago, I thought I happily could spend the rest of my life with this person – and would have done anything to make that happen -- and now we are so far apart it seems unbelievable that our worlds ever collided at all.

I should say this is the first time he’s taken cocaine (or so he told me), and I have little trouble imagining why he did – he was at a party filled with rock stars, and, already drunk and high on pot, he probably got caught up in the moment. Years ago I would have guessed he did it out of insecurity – a need to do it because everyone else was; to cement his place in a world he didn’t quite feel he belonged. But I don’t really know why he did it, and I didn’t ask.

I hadn’t spoken to him for nearly two months, and he prattled on about the stillness of Joshua Tree, where he’d been recently, the reality TV show he may make a cameo on, and his girlfriend’s new job. As usual, he was dismissive of my work (not hard, because I am, too) and quick to point out how my current music tastes aren’t as hip as his (well, he writes for a music magazine, so mine wouldn’t be, now would they?) He asked me if I was dating anyone, something he has never ever asked.

The conversation ended as abruptly as it began – it is rare for him to ring me. And I’ve been left thinking about how strange it is that this is the guy against whom I’ve measured all boyfriends since. That one time in my life I thought I could be shut up in a room with him and nothing else and we’d never ever run out of things to talk about, and now I am almost grateful we talk at times when there’s always an excuse to get off the phone before one of us accidentally says something that makes it clear just how little we have to say to each other. Unlike some old friends who have grown apart, ours has never been a relationship based on reminiscing, I guess because that inevitably would lead to talk of times both of us would rather forget.

I thought about why we both hang on to this friendship. I often wonder if it’s just me hanging on, and from time to time I stop calling. It might take him a couple of months to call me himself, but inevitably he does. In dark moments I wonder if it is to remind himself of the life he could have chosen, and remember once again why he should be grateful that he didn’t. I think about the reverse sometimes myself – the crazy expat life I never would have had, and the people I would never have met because I would have been with him instead of trying to meet anyone.

I often still refer to him as my best friend. Perhaps it is shorthand – it’s too complicated and too much information to explain to everyone that he was my best friend turned boyfriend turned persona non grata turned best friend/someone I still can’t help measuring current boyfriends against. Except what he really is now is someone I have known for a very long time and, because I don’t like change, have a hard time accepting is not actually a very good friend anymore. I guess I should just describe him as “an old friend,” hmmm?