Half a World Away

             “That’s not it idiot, I meant that you should have told me you found someone sooner.” 

              “It’s only been a few weeks.”

              “I’m your best friend, you should have told me before the first date.”

              “You’re just sad we’re not dating.” I can hear him smiling on the other end of the phone. I smile too.

               “Of course not Connor, we both know you could never meet my standards.” After nearly ten years, our friendship has aged enough that the prospect of the other developing feelings is a joke. 

              “Apparently no one does.” I laugh too loudly for the joke, pretending there isn’t any weight behind his jape. Inside the dark living room of my flat, I walk in circles. I haven’t bothered to turn on the lights. The phone is nestled in the crook of my shoulder and my neck hurts from the position, but I don’t want to put it down, not for a moment. 

              “I think you’d like her, she’s quirky and sweet. Oh, and she loves the same movies, you know, the classics you hate.” 

              “Well, I’m really glad that you get to share those with someone who can stand them.” I break my circle and walk over to the TV cabinet, picking out a horror movie from the ’80s that Connor gave me. I’d watched it recently, but I hadn’t brought it up. Now, turning it in my hands, it feels crass to say anything, so I slide it back into its place.

              “You know I don’t mind them.”

              “Minding them and liking them are two different things.” The movie had been weird and lacked structure, but then again those were the reasons I loved Conner. 

              “and she cooks, some of the things she makes reminds me of your cooking.”

               I sit for a moment on the seat that used to be his. The more he tells me, the heavier my heart sits in my chest. I should be happy for him; I am happy for him. 

               “That sounds great.”

              “Yeah, it is.”

              “look at all the positives this move has done for you.” It comes out insincere. I’m distracted. Looking ahead, I try to leave my body. I’ll answer in the correct pauses and respond when needed but I won’t be here, I’ll be lost in a reverie somewhere far away.

              “I guess you could say that. It’s had its ups and downs.”

              “Well, that’s life for you. What can you do.”

              “What’s wrong with you?”

              “What do you mean?”

              “I don’t know, you sound weird.”

 On my journey, I stumble upon the recollection of the last time I cooked for him before he wanted to move - when our lives were interconnected. I made an Indian dish, one that I had made for him before; he hadn’t remembered the dish and I didn’t expect him to. Connor is not one for sentimentality. It’s not that he doesn’t like talking about the past, he simply doesn’t remember it, at least not in the same detail.

              Do you remember the time we ate pizza walking home from the gym? We were so hungry we balanced the boxes in on hand and crammed slices of pizza with the other.

              I don’t know what you’re talking about. I don’t think that was with me.  He always claims my memories didn’t involve him, but who else would be in them? Sometimes I think his aquamarine eyes are seeing the world differently; he views it in cool blues, and I see it in sepia tones.

              “So, what’s your new flings name?”

              “Madison.” 

              “Madison…” I roll the name in my mouth. “Madison… I don’t like it.”

              “Oh come on now, why not?” 

              “It’s too... preppy.” I’ve somehow made it to the front corridor where I pace back and forth along the lines of the floorboards. They are tracks for me to follow and If I slip off, I’ll have to start the line again.

              “How old is she?” Connor sighs quietly and I know perfectly well he’s avoiding telling me. 

              “Well… she’s 19.” 

              “Oh Connor, again?”

              “Why do you always do this?” He pulls himself away from his microphone and suddenly we’re no longer in the same room. I step off the floorboard track and bring myself back into the conversation. “You always love to find reasons to put me off the people I’m seeing.” He still sounds distant, like he’s in one corner of the room and I’m in the other. 

              “You know it’s only because I don’t want you to make a mistake.”

              “I really like her. Would it be better if I was alone?”

              “No, but maybe alone until you stop dating people nearly 5 years younger than you.” I pause and chuckle softly, trying to lighten the mood but I know I’ve crossed a line. 

              “Seriously?”

              “Seriously.”

              “She’s mature for her age, she went through a lot growing up.”

              “Yeah, well so did I but going through a lot doesn’t make you grow up faster, it just leads you to believe that you have.” It’s too late now, I can’t turn back.

              “I think you just want me to be alone so you’re the only one in my life.” Something shifts, it’s no longer playful – he means what’s he’s saying.

              “Thanks for that.” I gnaw the tip of my tongue so blood eventually covers the inside of my bottom lip.

              “I mean it, I get that my move has been hard for you, but I can’t be the only one accountable for your mental stability.” 

              “Thanks-a-fucking-lot.” My feelings blow up like a bomb, it has no target, it simply explodes to cause destruction. “The move hasn’t been hard. It’s been hard that I barely hear from you lately. I’ve been a courtesy call these last weeks. At least now I know why.” Maybe the tension was always sitting within me, bubbling away, just waiting for something to spark it. 

              “I’m sorry. I’m sorry… that’s not what…” 

              “I’m the one who fucking pushed you to move Connor – if it wasn’t for me you wouldn’t have the guts to do anything in your life.” My voice raises and rattles in my chest. “So, don’t tell me that you think you need me less than I need you.” 

              “Well at least I’ve tried doing something with my life, not everyone is petrified of change.” I angrily slam the photo of us at his 20th birthday that sits on my hallway table. We were so young and so naïve when this was taken. The friendship was still so fresh and new and exciting. There were so many things that we had to discover about the other person. Our lives were oceans, wide and deep, and we swam in them during pointless road trips and evenings on my deck with a bottle of wine and the stars above us. We were endless. 

              “Clearly all the years we spent together mean nothing to you.”

              “Don’t be stupid. Now you’re just being childish.”

              “At least I’m not dating a child.” If we fight, if angry things are said, I can disguise how I feel. “The only reason you date people so much younger than you is that you’re so insecure about yourself you need someone equally insecure to feel comfortable.” I twist the knife deeper, just to get a reaction.    

              “You know what…” His tone is now cool as if what he’s about to say next will be palatable. “You’re a very selfish person. I know that you’re lonely but that doesn’t mean I should be lonely with you.”

              “And you’re a hurtful prick who uses people and then throws them away.” My face is warm and flushed and I storm to the dark kitchen for the cold bottle of Rose that I was saving for tomorrow. I open the fridge door and the light fills the space. I pull out the half-drunken bottle and leave the door open, so I’m not completely in the dark.

              “Connor, are you there?” Everything is quiet but I know he hasn’t hung up. We never stray too far. 

              “I’m here.” He exhales into the phone.

              “I’m sorry.”

              “I am too” This isn’t the first fight and it won’t be the last. In the silence, I press the bottle to my cheek and close my eyes. “I just need to feel present in your life.” The flood has passed but I still taste blood and my head still rings with his words. I slide down the cabinets and stretch out my legs.

              “You’ll always be a part of my life.” He whispers. The tattoo we both share peaks out from the cuff of my pants, and I stretch forwards to trace its lines. At this moment, I am eternally grateful for our drunken choice to brand our skin with a reminder of what we mean to each other. 

              “But it doesn’t feel that way right now.” My hand retracts from my ankle and I press it around my neck, massaging my throat roughly as I shut my eyes again, so I am no longer here but instead next to him. “This separation is harder than I thought it would be.”

              “Did you mean anything you said?” 

              “Of course not.” I lie for his benefit. “But I think maybe you did and I think I can’t be your responsibility anymore.” My throat stings each time I take a sip. “We spent so many years leaning on each other, maybe we need to realise that that’s not possible anymore.”  

              “But…” 

              “We’ll be ok.” 

              “I just don’t want things to change between us.”

              “Yeah but things always change. We just have to ride the wave.” The true distance between us (the seven-hour plane ride, the twenty-six hours in the car, the fourteen days walk) makes itself known. 

              “I miss you.”

              “I miss you too.” But once the words are said they hover in the air around me adding to the storm of rain clouds of things left unsaid. There is no light to guide us through and so it is better not to acknowledge unchangeable facts. I feel hard done by, he’s gained a glimmer of sun and I’ve lost mine. I remain in the turbulent weather whilst someone else blows away his dark and stormy loneliness. So how am I supposed to survive this by myself?

              “Promise that you’ll visit me soon.”

              “Of course I will.”

 Before we started fighting, when the conversation was mindless and simply filling time Conner asked, if you were a drink, which would you be? I thought it was stupid at the time, so I brushed it away, but If he asked me again I would tell him that we are wine and after sitting in the bottle together for years, we are bold, and our flavours are clear, but on the kitchen floor I realise the complexity behind the notes and I appreciate love and friendship can appear to have the same flavour depending on the sip and I hope the bottle is never-ending and doesn’t empty, but if it drains, at least the memory of it will linger on my palette.

              “Of course I will.” 

              “I better get going. Maddison just walked in.” 

              “Ok. I better go too. Love you.” I hang up the phone without getting a response and the lid is put back on the bottle as we remain half a world away.