A role you were born to play
We met at age 12, 13 - those oh so crucial middle school bonding years, when young people explore and begin to form their core identities. Our shared love of nerdy smart kid interests included Lily Tomlin comedy albums, The Borrowers books, Star Trek, Arthurian legends, dollhouses, Mad Magazine, sci-fi novels, and classic film of Hollywood’s golden era. We co-wrote a Marx Brothers parody skit and won the JR High talent show. How brilliant is that?
I also listened to you cry, every day, by the bike racks after the school day was over, about the horrible ways people had treated you that day. Hugged you, listened to you, commiserated, soothed you. Supported you. I nurtured you this way for the next 50 years. Believed you when you told me about your life - and knew I was only hearing the tip of the iceberg. Helped you find the words to talk to your mother. Traveled across the country - the world - to visit or support you when you beckoned. You gave me the best you could, in terms of friendship, until I no longer served your needs. All the fun and kindness dried up like a raisin inside you.
In the early years, I found you humorous and smart and fun to be around. You were often temperamental, as well, and I just tolerated it, diva fits and all, trying to understand your inner struggles. Your constant put-downs, competitive one-up-man-ship, name dropping, “corrections” of things you knew nothing about, your chiding admonitions, mansplaining, egocentric nonstop prattle about your accomplishments - I knew these were all symptoms of your own deep insecurities. So I just let it all roll off. I felt sorry for you; hoped that by being a supportive friend who could look beyond the surface of your narcissistic behaviors, you might feel better about yourself and the world. As I said, I consoled you every day after school, by the bike racks, as you held back tears from being bullied in school that day. Gladly I followed you to Star Trek conventions, joined you in assorted role-playing games, spent hours hanging at the mall with you. I also dragged you along and forced you to do other fun things, often, back then....Dancing, picnics, road trips, prom, parties, dates, cultural events beyond opera. You complained constantly but seemed to have fun.
Prom : At least 3 of us had fun......
However, the fun between us died long ago....In recent decades you have grown increasingly dismissive and cruel, for reasons never made clear. You enjoy thinking / expressing to others that I’m a town hick, some uneducated, uncultured rube you could never get to leave Texas. (Until I moved to NY and DC.) Someone you needed to educate and show the world. The reality is that I got accepted into as good a college as you did, have actually lived in more major cities around the world than you have, as well as circumnavigated the globe in my own travels, and I’ve actually had real adult careers lo these past 40 years (not just sitting at home moping, living off my mom’s allowance). You actually do know all this, just conveniently choose to forget it. I’m not needy or clingy, but a double-standard has crept in : you are allowed to initiate contact (call or email), and analyze mutual friends, politics, or art - but I am not.
(For the record : I’ve always known that you were gay. Other 13 year old boys I knew in 1973 didn’t play with dolls and dollhouses or love opera. While you were out late nights being a “dissolute young man”, I was having my own romantic rendezvous. From age 15 years on, I’ve always had a hetero boyfriend/ lover/ husband, plus my friendship with you. It became apparent to me, early on, that I was just one of your many beards. Your Texas beard. As long as we had fun, it felt like an acceptable trade-off. All that Scarlett + Rhett mythologizing was just that. I only say this because sometimes you enjoy telling yourself or others that I had a hetero crush on you and you tried to warn me off but like so many things you’ve said over the years.....this never happened. My first true love, first kiss, the hs boy who broke my heart at age 17 was Michael Cates.)
You stood by me, helped me, financially, emotionally, and otherwise, through some horrific personal crises, and I loved you for that. You nurtured and cared for my boys, as their Uncle Bill, and all of us love you for that. Those memories are of you at your best. But I too gave back : providing you with family, friends, and a social life of extended family when you had none.
It’s been awhile, however, since our interactions were fun for either of us. Time to re-asses and adjust accordingly. I am unwilling to tolerate your condescension, being constantly lied to, getting stood up, your nasty temper fits, feeling used, changing my schedule to accommodate yours, being stuck with the bill, your constant put-downs, getting guilt-tripped into doing things I don’t want to do, or being treated as the backup plan of last resort. I am unwilling to put up with your bullshit any more. Truth be told, it’s a relief not to have to listen to your carping constant negativity. You quit your dream job, writing for Dan Rather, in a fit of pique. You have now turned on your oldest friend with some bizarre fable you invented out of whole cloth - cut all ties from the one who put up with all your bs and loved you unconditionally, like a sister. Reap what you have sown.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YqsM88h52pM
