We’ve been talking. The Kid and I.

A few days after his return from Thanksgiving Break, he signed off AIM a few minutes after I signed on. And since I am neurotic and, you know, unstable, I immediately called him to leave a mean voicemail message about my how things change so suddenly. The avoidance was apparently back in full swing which I was expecting but still wanted to mention.

Only, he answered.

“Molly, are you really that narcissistic that you think I would sign off just because of you?”

Um, OF COURSE I am that narcissistic. Does he remember me AT ALL? I read into EVERYTHING. I am crazy, HELLO. And, after all, it’s been his habitual behavior. We talked for a few minutes but he had a study … thing and needed to let me go but promised to call back the following day, which he did, at precisely the time I specified. The punctuality OF COURSE pissed me off because I wanted him to break (more) promises so I could be mad about something. Well, more somethings.

He has contacted me a few times since then and this weekend, I tested him because SURELY he would not answer on a SATURDAY NIGHT. Surely he would not be sleeping alone and ah ha! I could be mad at him for screening. Only, once again, he answered. And his voice softened to that tone he used to use only for me. DAMMIT.

Throughout these few conversations, I thought I could handle being friends with him.

But the more we talk, the more I know. And like tonight, he had to sign off AIM in the early evening which I am SURE meant he went to go hang out with her. And I can’t handle those thoughts. Of them.

I used to have a Best Guy Friend whom I would call three-plus times a day for advice, gossiping, and general conversation. If I needed a sober driver or my car needed a jump, he would drop everything and rescue me. If I was miserable and needed a beer or happy and wanted to bake cookies, he would indulge my urges. He was great –though I readily admit that I did take advantage of him –until he got a girlfriend and couldn’t continue being friends with me. Unless I wanted to be secret friends.

I don’t do secret friends.

Which is probably part of the reason why I never reached the top tier in the high-school hierarchy –because I refused to hide friendships. (That and I’ve never been a slut.) Obviously a very unpopular move during adolescence. 

The Kid, however, does not share my qualms with secret friends. When I would visit him at law school, no one knew what we were to each other. I always felt like an outsider and he was extremely sketchy about our situation –not introducing me or taking his arm from around my shoulder when girls entered the apartment. SKETCHY. Even now, The Kid has implied that she would be EXTREMELY upset if she knew we still talked.

To reciprocate, I haven’t told anyone that he and I talk; he’s secret in my world, too. I am dating and he is dating and the details of our individual lives remain a secret to each other.

Only, that’s not how I roll.

The Kid has always been great with words, but he fucking sucks with action. He doesn’t get it. He can spout sonnets until Bill Shakespeare rolls over in his grave, but he doesn’t understand that words don’t count. Actions count. Actions are the ONLY thing that matter. Words are empty and trite without action. They tire me. I thought I could do the friendship thing, as long as I held the upperhand. Only I don’t hold it. Because I am still a secret. And he, once again, is having his cake and eating it too.

Which is why I took action and, after getting his voicemail tonight, said, “I don’t want to talk for a while. Thanks. Bye.”

I can be friends. But I don’t do secret friends.