The fun of being among old friends again is catching up on old times.
The ones that were good, anyway.
The friends and the times.
Then, there are the rest.
A good friend asked how so-and-so is doing. “Do you still talk to him?”
Funny she should ask.
His name is in the air from time to time. He and Mom often talked on Facebook. All my exes friend her. It’s interesting how they wait till they are exes. And how they like her far more than me.
I don’t want to hear about him. I loved the shit out of him, for some bizarre reason that I still to this day cannot figure out. Today, though, I do not give a fuck who he’s talking to or what he’s saying or if he’s even still in Florida. Honest to God, do. Not. Care.
My birthday is always an interesting time. He went from the first to post, to the one to post most times on my day, to pretending I’m dead.
But the friends he introduced to? Always on top of it. Always have nice things to say. More than just the “happy birthday” no caps/no punctuation/no emojis that you get from the people you haven’t seen in 25 years.
I last saw him on one of HIS birthdays. The friends and I took him to brunch. Rather, I took him to brunch and either he invited them or they crashed. Either way, I was not happy then but I fell in love with them big-time after that first meeting.
I don’t fall in love like that. I really don’t. Rarely with friends. Even less frequently with men.
I hear the love songs in my playlist and I’m like who WAS that girl who bought those MP3s? I just don’t relate.
In any event, he’s still hung up on the ho he dated in college. The skanky bitch with three kids in college, supposedly with the husband she’s had since college.
One of those kids (the oldest) looks eerily like my guy. I mean, eerily like him. Ho.
He was on my mind because Mom wanted to eat at a restaurant ON HIS STREET. Of all the goddamn places in Palm Beach, that’s where she picks.
I thought I saw his car. But I know his plate by heart even now, and know it wasn’t him.
I didn’t get any kind of emotion other than OH GAWD get me out of here. I hope he’s well. But I wish he knew that I am fucking dead inside to the opposite gender for many many reasons, and he’s one of them.
So do I still talk to him? My answer was a simple, “Fuck no.”
She said yeah. He was nice, good-looking and yet a strange one. She remembered our big, fancy dates … and then his general weirdness after each. Shame, really.
Indeed.
