i just want to be friends

pt. 1

Jun 03, 2024

on day two of our one week roadtrip round sicily you told me you didn’t love me anymore. emphasis not on the word anymore, your tongue stressed harder on the word love; you didn’t love me anymore – as in you didn’t love me in the same way that i loved you still.
you inhaled deeply as your knuckles turned white around the steering wheel and pushed forward those words you’d been holding inside for so long:
i just want to be friends
my body felt weirdly empty as that sentence hung between us in the car. outside dusk had started to set in and the mediterranean green had turned to a silvery purple, the dry cypresses and shivering olive trees huddling closer as the night bled colour and warmth from the earth.
i just want to be friends
i asked you to pull over on the next exit and you did.
without a word i stepped out of the car and walked out onto the field, eyes held on the diamond-bright stars above me; all alone in that dark landscape. breathing in, breathing out. the cold, the silence – nightfall’s heavy blanket over everything. i heard you step out of the car and light a cigarette. i walked even deeper into the grove of lonely olive trees, the scent of their small white flowers on the wind. i steadied myself against a trunk and felt the faint warmth from the bark against my skin.
the skin that you had rejected
the skin that still felt the impress of your skin against it.
i turned my gaze up, stars and sky fractured through the branches and the leaves
thinking: if heartbreak is the cost of love,
then rejection is the risk of emotional audacity
which meant that now i was paying the price.
i closed my eyes and absorbed the landscape, the silence. how many people hadn’t stood exactly where i was standing? desperate in their misery, certain that their pain is unique?
i opened my eyes, the stars and the sky and the trembling leaves. no matter my fleeting existence this will remain: my emotions like breezes over the unmoving earth. no matter what happens this is what i always will have: me, my sensations, the earth.
i inhaled, said a prayer goodbye, and walked back to the car in a collected silence.

how come you’re travelling to sicily together? concerned friends of mine were asking.
i didn’t really know what to tell them, how to explain that it just happened – which was also the undefinable tendency that underlined our whole relationship.
i had the urge to go to sicily to find myself, i told them
and at some point he just kind of invited himself along.
here the concerned friends would make some facial gesture of surprise or a verbal exclamation of frustration.
and you were ok with that?
i stared at them blankly
of course i was okay with that. when you’re in love (as deeply as i was), the loved one in question could usurp anything and you’d be feeling the butterflies turning in your stomach over being usurped.
but i didn’t tell them that. i told them that yes i was ok with that, and if i wasn’t, i would have told Him that.
(it was relatively truthful)

yet –
initially, the reason for my going away was to get some space from him. to think, to reflect. we’d gone from not liking each other to liking each other to becoming best friends who started sleeping together; and then having sex. all in a couple of months. all while living together. in a big house. with 18 other people.
(the situation was yes, Complex.)
so my reason for going away was this: to get some physical and emotional distance, to land in my feelings, let him figure out his. at the same time i wanted to make him miss me (childish, yes), by forcefully removing my physical presence from him. i’d made grand plans to find a farm to volunteer at in sicily, to dig my hands into the earth and reconnect with myself, etc.
all the nice things you think when you’re romantically confused
but the prospect of me being away for a month or so must have made him shiver:
i was thinking id go to sicily, after my final exams, he said to me a couple of days after i’d made my grand proclamation.
to travel around the island since i’ve never been, he continued
perhaps you could meet up with me there?
(here he was inviting me to my own trip)
i said:
yeah, sure.
the answer of the masochistically usurped.

it seems you’ve not become a yes person, a friend of mine told me
you’ve become a yeah sure person.
i asked her what the difference was
the difference is, she began, in a declarative tone
that yes is confident, self-assured
yeah sure is the complete opposite
yeah sure is the equivalent of a dog rolling over on his stomach
(ouch)

but what i didn’t realize at the time (or didn’t want to realize – the brain makes funny u-turns around logic when you’re in love), was that that was the power-hierarchy of our relationship. by loving being usurped i was always putting myself in the beta position. because, if it was one thing, other than the things-just-fall-into-place dynamic of our relationship (oops, we just ended up having a candlelit dinner alone in the basement, oops, we just ended up spending the whole day together, again), it was that i was always the underdog.
getting excited as soon as he walked in the door.
perhaps this is because ive always been the one that’s wanted the most. the one never saying no, the one always lingering nearby.
grateful for whatever crumbs came my way.
it’s easy to become subjugated when every instinct is to please, to remain close.
and i was always willing to give up my power (read: self-respect and boundaries), if that meant i could have more.
like the blinding need of an addict.

even though the original plans for my trip had changed, i was still stubborn to in some way at least try and keep the promise id made to myself – hence i went to rome first, alone.
the month of hermetical farm-work turning into one and a half days of frolicking around the eternal city, feeling proud of myself for the small time of temporary distance id created.
after i landed at fiumicino i called my friend back home, staring out at the dark lazian countryside, feeling at home to be in that familiar midnight blue train-compartment of trenitalia again.
its either make it or break it, i told her
somethings gotta give
she listened to my grand expectations for the trip
you sound resolute, she said
i am
im done living in this uncertainty, its making me insane,
insecurity seeping into my very core.
we hung up as i stepped out of the train, walking out into the italian streets, breathing in the air.
alone.
mind firm on figuring things out.

and what were the things i wanted to figure out?
not my feelings for him; they had always been clear. i’d always been very in-tuned to what i was feeling and this i knew: i was in love.
the problem was him: him being unsure if he was, him being confused and detached from his emotions, saying he doesn’t know how to trust what he’s feeling.
leading him to be sure one day and confused the next, hot one day and cold another.
leaving me to do the guess-work of who i’d get today.
because that’s one thing that i’d realized: when someone is constantly hot or cold, near or distant, on or off; you get used to always read where they might be. is this a good day or a bad day? do they want me near or not? id been walking around subconsciously making it a habit to interpret his every action into categories of he wants me and he wants me not. pulling up all the neighbourhood daisies by the roots. a hand on the shoulder? he wants me. no hug goodbye? he wants me not.
which in turn made me inhibit my needs and impulses.
because the one thing you want to do when you like someone is to revel in that feeling, to surrender yourself completely; follow every desire to touch, hug, kiss, be near. walk completely into love. but since i felt uncertain if my approaches would be welcomed, id began watering myself down, becoming passive. only responding or initiating when he’d first given me something that signaled green, go: he wants me.
another side of this problem was that this uncertainty had started to bleed into other aspects of my life.
id stopped writing.
and this was an issue. words had always been the most important thing to me. the thing that made life meaningful and beautiful. the joy of sitting in front of a computer screen and watching the sentences grow longer; the impulse to write down the strings of words that seemed to come on the wind; the exhilaration of inspiration and the slow gratification of prolonged discipline.
and i’d not written a single thing for months.
prioritizing him, worrying about him, thinking about him.
shifting my center to his.
i’d been saying yes to things i normally wouldn’t say yes to, fallen into habits id never had before. a morning person going to bed at 4 am, a one-drink person exploring all kinds of substances; a passionate student never studying.
and what hit hardest: a writer never writing.

so that was the motivations behind this trip.
to turn the uncertainties into certainties.
with my heart and sanity on the line, sliding them into the pool and declaring all in.
the adrenaline of the risk pumping inside my veins.

and so,
rome passed in a grey haze. a pearly-white sheen cast over the city, that kind of atmospheric halo unique to february. i was walking down familiar streets as the cool morning turned into a hot afternoon; the shade and the lush of villa borghese, the dry and calm streets of trastavare; the familiar hum of the jewish quarter. i bought goliarda sapienza from a local bookstore and took her to lunch – fried artichoke, hummus, bread; a tall glass of cold white wine that kept me full and pleasantly drunk til nightfall. picking up a tiramisu to-go as i walked the endless streets back to the hostel.
i was thinking about the loneliness that had begun to itch like a polyester sweater, the separation that ached far too poignantly than i would like to admit. in my confusion i turned to a philosophy podcast about love and spent my evening eating a piadina and writing in my notebook, trying to clear my head before our reunion tomorrow morning.
love is like an art-form, erich fromm had written.
requiring knowledge and effort that becomes intuition.
its a practice: a verb rather than a noun.
(here the writer in me started to stir)
i ordered the book immediately, knowing it’d wait for me back home.
(back home)
a place so foreign to me now.

arriving 8.20 to catania airport.
his plane was supposed to land 8.40, so i spent those twenty minutes readying myself:
hairbrush, perfume, lipstick.
peptalk, peptalk, peptalk.
walking in circles beside the snaking conveyor belts – luggage perpetually circling.
i was standing with my back to the arrivals gate; playing that old game of mine where i would try and guess when he was near by sense alone; a conviction to our strong connection.
but i was too nervous and eager and guessed wrong several times.
8.51 and i was starting to give up. i turned and walked the route of the conveyor belts again, turning at the end and looking up –
i’d recognize that head of black curls anywhere.
running footsteps, bobbing backpacks, laughter escaping our lips
then those two strong familiar arms enveloping me; his perfume in my nostrils.
he squeezed me tight and lifted me up
put me down, hands still on me
mine still on him
not wanting to break contact
i can’t believe this, i said
touzling his hair
you thought id never show, he said
i punched him lightly on the shoulder
i thought you’d never show, i echoed
(a tendency of mine, to echo)
he shouldered his backpack, hand on my waist
pushing me forward, starting to walk
it just feels so unreal, i told him
i know, he hummed
and i knew that he understood exactly what i meant
being here, together.
we walked out from the baggage claim area and headed for the exit
first stop: espresso.
he gulped his cappuccino in the italian way. i took my time, savouring the creamy bitterness, reveling in the aftertaste.
(we were different in that way)
then we headed outside to collect the car we’d rented. insanely cheap for the six whole days we’d have it. it was still morning but strangely hot for the season, the sun gassing down on our bodies accustomed to the bleak and sleet of winter. it was a process getting the keys; bureaucratic italian and the nerves that come with the signing of papers. but 30 minutes later and we were standing in front of our car for the week; giddy as teenagers.
we set out: music blasting, windows, top – everything down.
letting him choose the genre
the only option is italo disco, he screamed over the beat
(picky as always as the dj he was)
i put my arm out the window, sunglasses on, hair blowing in the wind
smiling so big at each other
over the sexy groan of pino d’angelo we drove down unfamiliar roads
trying to find some place to eat
after some time and stress of italian traffic, we found a bakery on the cliffside by the ocean. bought pizzette for one euro each with a view that was to die for; climbing out onto the precipice.
landing a little.
we sat and ate in silence, staring out at the sea, sharing a birra moretti. talking, not talking; but only of light, easy-going things.
we made plans to go to ikea, get the cheapest mattress they had. thinking we could sleep in the rental-car – not caring that it’d potentially violate the insurance terms.
he crumbled up the paper napkins in his hand and downed the last of the beer.
andiamo.
so out we set. windows down again, blasting music – cheesy italian pop – all the way to the blue and yellow department store.
walking out some 30 minutes later with a brand new mattress, two blankets, and a candle (his idea).
setting out again –
that whole day passed in new impressions; highways, ocean, italian supermarkets and old town streets. so much laughter, easygoing talk, and delight.
by the time nightfall came i was drunk from one campari spritz and we had to find a spot to park our car.
both of us tired from the early start and the busy day. i found a place on google maps that looked promising but when we drove up we discovered it had been shut, locked up. the second place the same: a big chain on the fenced parking lot. it had sounded so easy and romantic when we’d planned it – we’ll just find some place by the ocean and sleep in the car, wake up to the waves. but now here, on dark streets in a strange city the prospects did not look as cute. when our third option turned out to be a dead end too we were on the verge of giving up. not knowing where to go, what to do.
eventually he turned a sharp right onto a dirt road and started following it. deeper into the countryside, past fields and farmhouses. we stopped at a fork in the road and parked on the side of a freshly plowed field.
this will do, he exhaled.
i just wanted to go to sleep and couldn’t care less.
we stepped out, into the mud. the silence and moon as tangible as the fresh night air.
sliding down the back seats (discovering to our horror they didnt slide down completely), rolling out the mattress (too long to fit). we laid down, dejected.
him in a fetal position because his legs were too long.
i know, sleeping in the backseat of a car didnt sound ideal. but to me it sounded romantic, intimate.
but this was not it.
we laid there, trying to sleep.
slowly discovering the blankets were too thin and the night air too cold, dropping to just 5C.
(it was february, after all)
the sharing of bodily heat was of such importance that i considered crawling inside his hoodie and sleeping there.
but the night passed. the hours deepened.
whenever i slept i dreamed of not sleeping; whenever i was awake i thought of the cold, shivering.
id never experienced anything like it.
then, around 7, the sun came up –
warm through the window onto our cold faces
like the smile of an old friend
finally, he whispered into my ear
drawing me closer
we slumbered in the sun til 11
waking up to my face a little burnt
we’re never doing that again, i said
i know, he said
we got up, opened the doors, letting the fresh air in
then we laughed, joked. sang dirges to hostels and airbnbs
then we set out again, like kids. off for a new adventure
revving the car and driving down the dirt road, i looked back
the tracks from the car the only proof that we were there.

we spent the first two days in a kind of naive bubble. joking, laughing. taking care to avoid eye-contact with the elephant in the room and to never step on any eggshells. but this pretend-state only aggravated the growing anxiety within me, adding to the underlying tension between us.
it got to the point to where i just wanted to grab a needle and burst the bubble.
leaving ragusa, after sunset, a cheap pizza. in front of us a four-hour late-night drive to marsala
and this was where the bubble burst –
because
as soon as we got inside the car i became quiet
unresponsive to his effort of lightness
what’s going on, he finally said
just anxiety, just thinking, i answered vaguely
is it about the elephant in the room?
(he had always been more daring than me, less scared of confrontation)
yes, i exhaled
as i felt the tension reaching a peak within me
why don’t you start talking, he said
because i feel you always get coloured by what i say
and so i began
beginning and continuing and going on
for what must have been 45 minutes
because at this point id been carrying so much inside, for so long
letting emotions fester and thoughts mold
for the first time i let it all burst forward, high and low
not having the energy to care about how it sounded, how it landed
and whenever i came to a point of hesitation (how to say it, what to say)
he urged me on –
just let it out
so i did
everything.
after i said my piece, after he’d – we’d – had some time to take it all in,
it was his turn to say his.
a long monologue which boiled down to those six words:
i just want to be friends
i remember how empty i felt, the first time i heard that sentence
shock.
how the words landed like stones on my skin
yet i was too numb to feel their sharp edges
(the pain i felt much later)
i remember reading, just before i left, in conversations on love where author natascha lunn pointedly wrote: “When it comes to heartbreak, an ocean of suffering is often squashed into a short, sharp sentence… The shock ending is delivered in a few seconds, but the sadness chooses its own timeline – you lose a future in a moment, and then you are left to mourn it at a pace you can’t control.”
my sentence was delivered there, in the car heading west through the countryside of sicily. changing the direction of my life in the few seconds it took to utter that short sharp sentence.
i just want to be friends
shock, ending, future.
but in that isolated space in time, like a parenthesis in time, life (vacation, car, distance from home). i felt too alien to react. too far removed from the everyday to understand the implications.
at one point on the drive he asked me about the future but i told him i could only think of this trip. my mind unable to logically grasp anything but this parenthesis in space-time
as we drove on, i remember feeling how perfectly ordinary this moment was
id expected tears, drama – a desperate escape plan
but this experience was punctured by humdrum things: gas store stops, smoking breaks, navigational malfunctions and traffic to be maneuvered
perhaps this is what made it bearable, this rejection
this giant of a problem beside life’s smaller ones
and anyway, id always thought cars were best suited for serious conversations
the conversation might come to a standstill but at least you’re heading somewhere
two contradicting things held together in the same place: static and motion
when we arrived to the airbnb we parked the car, gathered our things. unlocked the door and ate the rest of our pizza
ordinary things
i took a shower. he listened to music
ordinary things
i laid down facing the wall, my back to him, fell asleep just as he came out the bathroom
felt the bed shift from his weight just as sleep overtook me and a soft whisper goodnight
it was the first time i didnt say it back

when i awoke the next day it was if from a slumber of stone
those first few blissful seconds where you’ve not yet remembered what’s happened
id planned to wake up earlier than him, get up, walk around alone
so i rose as quietly as i could, light on my feet
phone, coat, shoes
sneaking out into the damp air
we didn’t get to see the place, as we got in so late
but before me was a paradise dampened by the rain
orange trees – rows and rows of plump dark-green orange trees
i walked around, taking in the place. choosing the biggest juiciest fruit i could
saving it for later when i knew id need it
the drizzle started again, the sky grey, the leaves heavy
i walked to the end of the rows, where the landscape opened up
watching two wild-cats play among the branches
i stood there for a long time
smiling at the cats, small reminders of joy
when they ran off i turned my gaze on the horizon
green and grey
and let a single cinematic tear roll down my cheek
realizing id never get to have him how i wanted to
how i had had him
that was all
an ordinary sorrow

his shoulders drooped low in the soft rain
raindrops accumulating on his drawn-up hood, black curls spilling forth. the gold from his earring twinkling
how do you feel
he asked
i shrugged my shoulders in response
mm
a pause
you should take a walk around the place, i said
its incredible
ill do that, he said
and i left him to it
went inside
with an empty sadness packed up my things.
he didn’t say much when he came back
then we got in the car and left, started driving
from marsala to palermo
and the only thing i could think of listening to, to his blank surprise
was trance
the genre id never let him put on normally
but i sat there
feeling the base and the mellow steady rhythm
eating the best orange id ever had in my life
juice dripping down my fingers,
staining my sleeves my jeans the carseat
feeding him every other slice or so
(keeping more to myself)
convinced that i could find some salvation in my sadness
that even this, here
could offer me some comfort
amidst all this pain
as long as the transic beat and orange slices kept on coming.