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Friend: a person whom one knows and with whom one has a bond of mutual affection, typically exclusive of sexual or family relations.
How many of you have or had a “friend” that did not meet this definition? Where there wasn’t “affection” and they didn’t fit the criteria of “friend” at all?
All of you?
Good to know.
I’ll call him Zeke.
Zeke and I met in 8th grade when he moved to my hometown. We instantly bonded over our love of sports; specifically our mutual love of playing basketball. We played on the same rec team where I was more of a forward since I was taller and he was the point guard because he was a solid ball handler. He also pushed off illegally every time we played one-on-one and it pissed me off to no end. The angrier I got the more he enjoyed it.
He lived to get me riled up.
Son of a bitch, my intention wasn’t to dive into our relationship so quickly. There were to be a few intro paragraphs setting up the true purpose of this story but now I’m derailed. But I guess that proves the point of my first paragraph here:
Zeke and I weren’t necessarily “friends” as much as we were competitive acquaintances who spent a lot of time together pushing each other’s buttons and I’m not sure how that type of relationship is defined.
Zeke loved busting on me every chance he got. And he never cared if I gave it right back to him. He cherished me getting angry or annoyed because it wasn’t in my nature. I said things nasty things to him that I’ve never said to anyone else and he never took offense.
Zeke was and still is a very handsome man. All of the ladies in school had a crush on him. And no matter how poorly he treated them, they came back for more. It was pathetic to observe in real time.
Because Zeke and I were tight, I became the wing man. And by wing man I mean all of the girls came crying to me when he turned them down or blew them off. At first, I’m not going to lie, I enjoyed the attention from the ladies. I had negative-zero-game so any interaction was a win. This too was pathetic to observe in real time.
The act grew old over time and I quickly realized this wasn’t a good mate- finding strategy. This wasn’t even a case of being in the “friend zone”. This was me acting as Zeke’s assistant and PR rep. Except I didn’t get paid and I wasn’t able to use the job as a springboard to something bigger and better.
Now I may have been using Zeke in my own right as well. I had a crush on his younger sister. And I would throw up every time I tried to talk to her. But being at Zeke’s house gave me unique access to hopefully one day not poop myself and actually have a conversation with her as a starting point.
And then Zeke got wind of my crush. And he destroyed me with it. If we were ever in the same room with her was relentless on me. The jokes never stopped and I turned to mush each time.
Yet I came back for more each time. I guess I assumed he would eventually relent but that didn’t happen.
The embarrassment didn’t end there.
He “depantsed” me (pulled down my shorts and all that resided underneath my shorts) in front of his family while they were eating dinner. All was on display as they scoffed down their spaghetti. And I can vouch for it being spaghetti because you remember weird details during those traumatic moments.
Zeke and I played Wiffle Ball on a daily basis each summer. It was so competitive that I threw the bat at him on more than one occasion. Again, proof that he could easily bring out the worst in me.
While we battled playing fake baseball, our mutual friend Adam, would do anything to get our attention. He would run around in nothing but his underwear and steel the bat.
It sounds super immature but my lord was it hilarious. He was Will Ferrell before Will Ferrell. If only I had recorded it at least once. YouTube would blow up.
I would love to go back, take a step outside of myself, take a breath and just soak in the hilarity.
NOW I’m ready to get to my point. Sorry, this is what happens when one dredges up old memories.
It’s Junior year in High School, the spring of 1989, and we students are given an assignment in U.S History to portray a character from the past. It would require a presentation where we also had to at least attempt to dress up like the characters we were assigned.
Once the assignment was given, I had a knot in my stomach. Not only did I despise public speaking, to do so in costume would destroy me. Any cred I built up over the past 3 years would be shot in one embarrassing display.
Zeke and I were to work together on this assignment. I don’t remember if we volunteered to work together or if we were told to team up. My best guess is that I jumped at the chance to have someone else up there with me and since it was him, all eyes would not be on me.
We were to be Laurel and Hardy.
I was Hardy, shocker, and clearly remember stuffing a pillow in my shirt and wearing a bowler hat. We worked on the project together at my house and Zeke hit on my younger sister. She loved it so you can imagine how fun it was to witness it live. Zeke would grin at me as if to say “Look how easily I pulled that off.”
When the day arrived to perform, I couldn’t breathe. We were prepared and nailed the assignment from an information perspective, but I looked ridiculous and assumed I’d pass out after 15 seconds.
I f’n killed it.
The class howled at my impression.
The class howled at my mocking of stupid Laurel.
Ms. Parente, our teacher, couldn’t take her eyes off of me. I still remember her look of shock and genuine appreciation of my out-of-nowhere performance. I probably could have asked her out then and there and she would have said “yes”. That would have been fun and controversial.
I had such a rush afterwards. I enjoyed performing. I enjoyed not being me for those 15 minutes.
But I didn’t sign up for the school play after that.
I still sweated out each and every oral report from that point forward.
But that performer lives inside me to this day. It just needs to be pulled out from some outside force.
Writing does that for me. I can be free with my words and my honesty without hesitation. I want to make people laugh and I want to elicit every emotion on the spectrum.
I get a rush putting that bowler hat back on, and leaving myself for stretches.
Zeke brought a lot of that out of me, and for that I’m forever grateful.
Postscript:
Zeke and I remained “friends” throughout the remainder of high school. We shared a limo at our senior prom and comforted each other at the Jersey Shore the next day after we had a miserable time with our dates.
Zeke “hooked up” with one of my family members at my wedding. And gave that same stupid and irritating grin the next morning which made me want to punch his teeth in. Here I go again.
Zeke and I have lost touch over the years.
I never made it to his wedding.
We briefly reunited at his father’s funeral.
I last saw him at another friend’s wedding ten years ago.
I peek in on his family through his wife’s Facebook account.
Last year he sent me a text with a picture of he and my sister at the Jersey Shore after they ran into each other. He still enjoyed tormenting me with it.
I wouldn’t mind smacking him again one day soon.
And I’d kill to play him in Wiffle Ball.
Previously published on Medium
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Feature photo provided by the author.