Let me frame it this way. Of all the men I
have genuinely loved, there are only two I no longer speak to. With the
exception of the two I am no longer in contact with, the others have remained
among my dearest and most cherished friends.
Yes, I am that girl. I have followed the
course of every romcom plotline and CW television show and have fallen for
several of my best friends on multiple occasions. Unfortunately for me, my life
was not scripted by Mark Schwann. Producers were not merely dragging out the
tension for ten seasons in order to keep the ratings up. There have been no
series finales where all the loose ends have been serendipitously tied up.
There have been no scenes where I have frantically tried to get off a plane in
order to meet the man who has also experienced a magical revelation and is
waiting for me in the airport terminal. If my personal plotlines of falling for
the best friend were a movie, audiences would be far from satisfied with the
conclusion. I assume they would feel
something akin to how they felt at the conclusion of “The Breakup” or “500 days
of Summer.” Regardless of their poor box office potential, some of these
experiences are among my favorite love stories. Though they have not ended in a
romantic wonderment, a couple of them have taught me invaluable and beautiful
lessons about forgiveness and unconditional love in its purest form. You know
the scene at the end of “My Best Friend’s Wedding,” where George shows up at
the end of the reception to dance with Julianne? If you’re not familiar with the scene all you
need to know is in that scene he meets her in the middle of the floor and declares
“There may not be marriage, there may not be sex, but there will be dancing!” I
am fortunate enough to have a best friend in my life who always shows up on the
dance floor. He rivals Britney and Beyonce not only in moves but especially in
friendship (which I guess is not the fairest comparison as neither Britney or
Beyonce have invested much into our friendship as of late…)
As I was recovering from my first surgery (around
the same time that everything fell through with “the perfect date,” refer to
Lightning and Lotteries if you missed the scoop on him) I grew very close to my
favorite dance floor companion, who I will refer to as the “so close soulmate.”
We had become friends at school earlier in the year. He was in my art history
and religion classes. He was the most eccentric, compulsive, hilarious, and
brilliant human I had ever observed. As a result of watching him in an
impassioned meltdown after having read Clement Greenberg’s Avant Garde and Kitsch, I became instantly intrigued by him. My “so
close soulmate” was a fierce defender of beautiful things. Placing the perfect
adornment to a kitchen or painting a picturesque landscape were thing he
considered valid and lovely. He did not accept them to be “kitschy.” I, on the
other hand, made loud conceptual pieces with poor execution and shoddy
craftsmanship. As artists we couldn’t have been more different, but as creators
I think our hearts were the same. My “so close soulmate” was one of the few
people who genuinely understood the value of constant construction, the need to
use your hands, and the life saving merits of creating. He accepted me fully,
minus a few edits he made to my closet and wardrobe… In the beginning years our
narratives were somewhat the same. We both intended to be doctors, just like
our dads were. We both strived for perfection, because we were asked to
do so. And in our own ways we both grappled to navigate whether we would become
the version of ourselves that we intended, or others intended, or God
intended. We laughed together more than any two people have ever laughed. We
would have made phenomenal cohosts of a talk show. Seriously, Ellen and Oprah
wouldn’t have known what had hit em. It is a rare thing to find someone who
genuinely understands Michael Jackson levels of insomnia in the same way as
you, so the day my “so close soulmate” told me he envisioned us married but could not date me was both perplexing and heartbreaking. I knew on some
level why, but it was years before I knew for sure.
After he told me we couldn’t be together
our friendship hit a tumultuous year. We would go through months of not
speaking, reconnect, have explosive fights and then not speak again. Time
progressed and eventually we were able to maintain a steady friendship.
When I informed my “so close soulmate” that
I had been re-diagnosed with cancer, he was there. He brought me beautiful
gifts (many inspired by Marie Antoinette…) and would sit and laugh with me
every single day. Though all of my friends were incredibly supportive, it
was difficult for many of them to know how to be present during that time. My
“so close soulmate” was always present, we got through it together.
We continued to grow up together and become truer versions of
ourselves. He ditched his doctor ambitions to pursue a career in fashion and I
ditched mine to become an art therapist.
It took a couple more years before my “so
close soulmate” was able to explain why his only contribution to my wedding would
be making my dress (and perhaps the bridesmaids dresses, and the cake and the
flowers...) In that moment I was able to sit with him just as he had sat with me,
and I was grateful for our every catastrophe. I was grateful he had taught me
all the things a soulmate can be and all the ways they can manifest themselves
in our lives. I was grateful he had taught me that life doesn’t always conclude
the same way as CW television series do. Most of all, I was grateful to know I
had a best friend who would always meet me in the middle of the dance floor.
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