Continued from Part 1...The next and last time we saw one another was one or two years later. We were unable to determine when exactly that meeting took place but we know I came to campus. She was my escort, taking me to visit everyone I’d known, including those who were no longer part of her social life. Relationships change quickly, all the time.
What I most remembered from that weekend was a moment of not being a good friend to her. We were in a living room. A bong was passed around while whereabouts and whatabouts were determined. Since transferring, I’d become proficient in the use of the bong, though when my Friend and I had last seen one another I was not. And neither was she. It was one of the small things that united us, that we’d both smoked pot just not through a bong. It seems ridiculous now but we were surrounded by classmates whose early college years were much like our early high school years (everything a new experiment), with this one exception.
“You can do it,” I said, less encouraging, more pushing her away.
I didn’t help her. I could have helped her more, is more accurate but not precise enough to relieve me of the small absurd guilt I carried about that moment of not being a true friend.
What she most remembers from that weekend together is that I wanted to connect with a guy I now have no memory of, not even when she said his name, and that I lost her roommate’s fake id.
“She still hates you for that,” she told me, not kidding, when our Facebook planned lunch date turned into an afternoon in a new-made-to-look-old pub in Manhattan.
“Wow,” I said, impressed. “I have hardly any memory of that.”
“She really hates you,” she said. “But I don’t remember the bong thing so you don’t have to feel bad about that anymore.”
“Thanks,” I said, clinking her Bloody Mary with my Guinness, not feeling bad anymore.
We talked about her family and mine, reminding each other of forgotten worries and complaints. She told me about her kids (two, very cute) and her move to the suburbs (somewhat lonely) and I told her about milk (the beverage, don’t drink ultra-pasteurized) and my newish separation. She told me about her strained relationship with her in-laws, and I told her how easy it was for me to let mine go. We bonded over everything from organic vegetables to Facebook dissatisfaction. Her hair was now straight while mine was curly, other than that we were just the same.
“I just don’t need to have so much information about so many people,” I said. “And I don’t need so much of my own information out there.”
“It’s scary,” she said.
“Can you Un-Friend people?” I asked, “Maybe that will get things in control.”
“You can,” she said. “I’ve done that to a couple people.”
“And what happens?”
“Nothing. They only find out if they’re looking for you and notice they have to Add you As a Friend.”
“Which will never happen if you’re not really friends with someone,” I said.
“Right.”
We agreed about everything. Recognizing each other’s mannerisms bound us together. We hugged every time one of us got back from the bathroom. One drink became four, and six. Afternoon became evening became night. Hanging out for so many hours, a therapist might say, is a sign of seriously needing connection.
The Facebook Breakup, Part 3 will be released on Friday.
bongs are one of the most underrated tools.
Posted by: drinksfan | January 26, 2010 at 10:33 PM