I Loved My Friend
We didn’t have the words, so we could not save our friendship. At times I still miss him.
One year for my birthday he gave me the most thoughtful gift. Months before I recalled to him the story of the toy I wanted as a kid, but my mom never bought it for me. At the time, she had good reason but late into my twenties I still thought about it.
That September, when he showed up to my apartment with a group of friends to celebrate with me, I was so surprised to open the beautifully wrapped box that he’d brought with him and see the very gift that my childhood heart had longed for. He was always that kind of guy.
Our relationship started as work colleagues. We didn’t work in the same department, but meetings and programs often brought us together in the same spaces. Eventually, we started hanging out after work and on weekends. His friends became my friends. My friends became his friends. Our families would ask about the other. Lots of times, we’d be together, and people would mistake us for brothers. On a few occasions, people would assume we were lovers. We thought both assumptions were funny. I really appreciated that as a straight man he could find the humor in it too. In fact, he and I joked about it.
We would finish each other’s sentences. We could look at each other and just laugh. Without me saying anything, he could often tell not just what I was thinking, but also what I was feeling. It would be impossible to count or even estimate the number of hours we’d spend talking to each other about our problems, solutions, hopes for the future, and sometimes nothing at all. It was a rich friendship. Sadly, for all the talks we had, we couldn’t find the words when we needed them the most to wrap up that era of our friendship more neatly.
He’d had a hometown sweetheart that he’d been dating for years but the distance began to wear on them. After they broke up, he slowly started dating again. He reunited with a woman from his past and their love began to blossom. I was so happy for him. I knew that when he imagined his future, the vision was of a loving wife, children, and the home he didn’t always have as a kid. This woman could provide him with that.
Sadly, what she couldn’t offer was an understanding of the friendship that he and I shared without being intimidated by it or misinterpreting it.
In the beginning, I thought it was all in my head. It is not uncommon that when a friend starts dating someone, you don’t see them as much, but it felt like the distance between us was growing wider and wider. When we connected one-on-one, it felt normal. When we were in a group setting that included his fiancée, it did not.
At first, I thought it was just me; later, one of his other friends pulled me to the side to ask about what he’d observed. I didn’t express my discomfort. I was silent because I didn’t know what to say and was afraid that if I said the wrong thing nothing good would come from it and it would make matters worse. I wanted to be a supportive friend.
Eventually, my dear friend announced his engagement. He’d come one step closer to living the life he’d envisioned. I saw that coming. However, what took me by surprise was a few of our mutual friends started asking me if I’d booked my flight for the wedding. I couldn’t book a flight because I didn’t know when it was. I had not been invited. I played it off and told folks that I had another event that weekend and couldn’t make it.
Weeks before the wedding was set to take place, I got an unexpected text message from the groom-to-be. He invited me to happy hour. Reluctantly, I agreed to meet him for a drink. I hadn’t seen him in months. It was great catching up and laughing as we used to do. Neither of us mentioned his fiancée or the wedding. We asked the waiter for the check. I thought for a split second about saying something but didn’t know if my words should be gentle or harsh. Instead, I chose to say nothing.
When the waiter came back to us, suddenly my buddy wanted one more drink. When he got it, he gulped the glass of wine down quickly, sat it on the table and looked at me like he never had, and said, “I wish the two of you could have been friends too.”
A few more words were spoken between us. Not enough words. Not words that were deep or mature enough. In that moment, and in that time, we didn’t have them. We hugged and went our separate ways. That was a decade ago, and that was the last time he and I intentionally saw each other.
I trust that he’s doing well. ▼
“I loved my friend.
He went away from me.
There’s nothing more to say.
The poem ends,
Soft as it began,—
I loved my friend.”
-Langston Hughes
Clarence J. Fluker is a public affairs and social impact strategist. Since 2008, he’s also been a contributing writer for Swerv, a lifestyle periodical celebrating African American LGBTQ+ culture and community. Follow him on Instagram: @Mr_CJFluker