“I’d like to be mad.”
this is how you responded to me, when I told you that I really only wanted to be friends.
this was not the first time I had told you
but I think it was the first time you had taken me seriously.
I was scared, when I was typing out my statement
that you would hate me
that all of our mutual friends would shun me
(me, for being a tease
a slut
a bitch for leaving you high and dry)
but I knew that I had to
because, you see
a little birdy told me something that day
that you thought I was just playing games
hard to get
but I was so serious, it hurt me
hurt me to hear that you didn’t value me as anything more than your next conquest.
hurt me to hear that you weren’t willing to take my words at face value.
hurt me to hear that I couldn’t be friends with anyone without having to worry.
thrice, I told you
I told you that I valued our friendship
and I thought that you understood, thought that you wanted the same thing I did
friendship
unfettered
free from the constraints that a one-sided sexual tension might bring,
from having to think about always impressing the other person, never really being true
so I was clinical. I depersonalized the situation, the first time, telling you “not right now.”
the second time, denying your feelings.
the third time was the worst.
I had to claim guilt in a situation in which I felt guiltless.
I had just been trying to be friends with you,
but apparently,
it was coming across in the wrong way.
so I told you as much.
and you said something that I don’t think you even knew would hurt me.
“I’d like to be mad.”
I don’t think guys ever have to deal with this overwhelming sense of guilt that comes
with turning someone
down
because they aren’t conditioned to take every person
who says they’re attractive
and reciprocate
without exception
like we are.
and you stopped talking to me, and I let it lie.
but there’s no way to really avoid each other, now.
we have the same friends
we go to the same parties
hell, we almost nearly always end up at the same place after them.
and so
“never the twain shall meet?”
not a chance.
and I’m worried we’ll be like live wires
and start a fire that I’m not prepared to extinguish
with bucketfulls of sand in my hands slowing me down and dragging me into the inferno
raging fire
hellfire
borne of guilt and self-loathing
wondering if something’s wrong with me, that no one wants to be my friend
