No, this is not something kinky. And I’m not being defensive. I might as well say so in advance.
As a kid, I have had many friends but of course they always end up as acquaintances. While I was able to form a solid relationship with two girls in school, I had my separate home buddies for the summer.
She was the fatty, apple-cheeked girl in pigtails living across my house and I was the skinny, tiny girl who always get bullied by her best friend. Other kids may taunt fat kids. But for being skinny, I was the one always picked on by my fat friend. I never fought back before and I even remember how one time, my mom reprimanded me for not fighting back. She used to to scare me into not being able to get inside the house if I do not learn to fight for myself. Anyway, I never learned and my mom just gave up on the idea.
Despite the love-hate relationship, she has been and remains to be my best friend. I was there through all her crushes, her first boyfriend, her worst fights, and even when she vomited on my National Career Assessment Test results. And in turn, she was there for me, too – when I got so drunk because I do not want to go back to school, when I graduated High School and when I got my heart broken.
Who’s the boy? He is the one in an orange shirt, with a basketball and a 5110 Nokia phone.
He stole both our hearts. But mine, I cannot say I was able to get it back whole.
We both liked him but it was my best friend who first admitted the truth. I was contented maintaining my denial mode. He liked her, too but they always ended up fighting. I was the mediator of all their fights. I was the one who chased after my best friend after he annoys her. And I was the one who tried to patch things up between them. Looking back, I’ve wondered why I have done those things over and over again. I think I just didn’t want to lose him in the process that they would never make up.
As we grew up into teenagers, things have to change. My best friend had to move out of their house. At the same time, he had to leave for another place. And I was scared. This is the end part. I knew it at that time. But I wasn’t ready to let go. I wouldn’t let 500 km keep us apart. This time, I can no longer use anybody as excuse. But it still didn’t work out. And I still couldn’t let go. Even until now.
It is pathetic. But every time somebody asks me of my summers during childhood, I always relate it to the two girls and the boy. My best friend still randomly asks me about him (even my mom does) and as usual, I deny.