The events I describe may be out-of-date, but the sentiments aren't.
I call Julie my fag hag (and she calls me her hag fag), but that isn't right. A hag, at least to me, serves a specific purpose for a gay guy, although I'm not entirely sure what that purpose is. Julie's like the sister I never had: certainly, I'm much closer to her than I am to my brother. I've known her since I was 14 (although we both remember seeing each other around in grade school), since before her last three siblings were born. She went with me to see my first concert that I admit to (Echo & the Bunnymen); I found out later that that was the night her parents told her they were getting a divorce. She was my date to the prom, and I wore her prom dress as a Halloween costume a couple years later. She was the last friend I came out to, a fact that continues to bother her to this day. We've been across the country together in a Dodge Neon, on a pilgrimage to eat cherry pie and then to see Snoqualimie Falls in Washington; we've been across the Atlantic together, when I tagged along with her school trip to London. She lived with my parents (briefly) on at least two occasions. We were roommates for three years. I was present when she met her fiance.
We got together to watch Ed Wood and the last season of "Dead Like Me" last night; I apparently won't be seeing her again before I leave. Mike's grandmother died, and Julie is accompanying him down to Alabama for the funeral, and will be gone the rest of the week. This makes me sad; he was originally supposed to be gone on military maneuvers this weekend, and she and I were going to get together for a "girls night in" thing. Now there won't even be that.
I'm trying to figure out why this is depressing me: while I have never lived outside of the state, we have been separated before. At various times we were on opposite sides of the state, first when I went to school, and then when she moved in with her grandparents. And for six months in 1993, Julie live in Dublin, Ireland, as part of a work study program. But that was always a temporary absence. This time, I will be sort of unmoored from the area: my parents will be moving away, and there will be nothing to come back to. My fear, of course, is us drifting apart, something which, I admit, has been taking place anyways since she started dating Mike.
Funny thing is, I sort of wanted to drift apart anyways. For years I have relied on Julie to be my social conduit: she was the one who knew how to meet people, and be friendly, and I left that up to her.
I sent this in an e-mail to Julie last summer:
When I seek to comfort you, I will make you watch DVDs, and sit with you in bewildering silence, because I will not know what to say. If I need comfort, I will insist that we get together, apparently for no apparent reason [sic], and we will do something that has nothing to do with what in my life is discomfortable; you will not ask me about my pain, and that will be thoroughly aggreeable to me. You may not even realize something is wrong, but you don't need to know what is wrong to help me feel better.
When I miss you, I will send obscure e-mails. (This e-mail does not count.) The impetus behind this is that you are the one who's [sic] life we schedule around, and because I can't trust you to turn off the ringer at work. But this works well. If I must see you, I will call you on weekdays after 6 PM. Weekends are verbotten, unless initiated by you, until such time as you are either single again, or until the "first blush" phase of love morphs into comfortable domesticity.
I will never go out on the town with a group of couples, where I am the only single person. This is uncomfortable, and I end up acting like an asshole, and I don't like it.
Asking me to drink is acceptable. Pressuring me to participate in other recreational drugs is not.
You will not know my sex life as it happens, and I will seek to avoid noticing you have one. You will, however, be privy to if and when I next fall in love, for I will not shut the Hell up about it. I will gush ad nauseum until such time as I insist that we get together, apparently for no apparent reason [sic, again], to do something that does not have any relevance to my emotional state; at that point, you will know all you need to know, and you will refrain from mentioning my lover's name until such time as I indicate that it is acceptable. I, however, will relentlessly and thoughtlessly mock you for your past loves, simply out of my envy. You will know this, and you will bear my mockery with grace, aplomb, and the knowledge that at any moment you have enough dirt on me to bury and disgrace me. I will pretend that I do not know this.
I will fumble nervously every time you reveal you have emotions, and when something horrendous is happening in your life, the best I will be able to summon is a "Jeez, that sucks". I will empathize silently, and struggle to find some strategy to make you feel better. This will, most likely, involve DVDs and a generous helping of self-mockery, since you will be to depressed to mock me yourself. Indian food will probably also be made available to you, as well as a run up to the nearest McDonald's for an M&M McFlurry.
You will help me edit my writing, whether that be a term paper, or the novel I keep threatening to write. I will happily reciprocate.
My CDs are your CDs, except for the CDs I really like. Those are mine, all mine.
I will attend your funerals until such time as you have a legally recognized consort, and you will dance with me at weddings even after you are consorting, even if I am consorting, because no one is as much fun to dance with as you, especially not men. I probably will not actually DJ at your wedding, because I will want to dance.
I will go to parties, but I will always be willing to disappear at a moments [sic] notice if people start pissing me off, I have class in the morning, or the dogs need to be let out. My accepting invitations to parties will always sound like I'm saying I don't want to go, when I do.
I will not consider any of your friends my friends, even though I like them, and they allegedly like me, because I am not comfortable talking to them without you as an intermediary, even if you are not present. [This is no longer true.]
You will mock me whenever you muct socially interact with my family or friends. This is acceptable.
Do not get really drunk and start kicking me again, or else I will disappear at a moment's notice.
I will usually be much more sober than I would like. This is the result of being huge, and of starting to drink at an age where I am apparently fairly mature. At least in this respect. Thus, I will graciously accept my lot to be designated driver, keeping in mind the abyssmal state of my car. And my mottled history of driving other people's cars.
I will help you move if and when you do, if I am in the area.
I will tend not to say goodbye when I leave social gatherings, because good-byes are awkward, and I do not believe that I merit a big to-do about leaving.
This is nothing new, but I'm simply codifying what I thought was understood. If I missed anything, please let me know.
I think I needed to edit the document more thoroughly.
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