  You ever find yourself thinking about what was going on a year ago, literally? It just so happens I had a flashback and remembered its someone's birthday. She's 21. Wish I was there to celebrate. Its one of those deals where the friendship seemed more solid than it really was, and in typical slapnutz fashion, I misread it all, said things I shouldn't have said and sometime last March it got to the point where I realized it wasn't worth the time or effort to maintain it all. But sometimes you wonder.
How things are going, what's new. But the effort of asking overrides ego. A year ago today I had been living in this apartment for about 2 and a half weeks. I knew her birthday was coming up and being in the lowly position of "cute friend" was handcuffed by the possiblities of a gift. Hours were spent in the most unmasculine of stores looking for the "perfect card. " After narrowing the choices to something non-mushy and somewhat sly, I returned home and showed my roommate the choices.
They were, in his words, decidedly weak. Back to Hallmark I went and wound up getting something different. But ah, what should the gift be? I wrote a quick note, hyping my culinary abilities. Quick isn't the best word, considering five drafts were written for a three line note. Her birthday was upon us.
I went to a meeting after classes and called later on. Sweat dripped from the point of my nose and hit the phone. This time it wasn't nerves, but the heat. I walked over to her place an hour later to drop off the card, and her "guy friend" was there. Talking was kept at a premium. I claimed work had to be done and made a quick exit.
I hadn't seen her in two weeks but it felt longer. Talking on the phone was a mixed blessing of comfort combined with an ache of not seeing her. A few days later on the phone, she talked about new jobs and new guys she was scopeing. If I knew better, or took off my blinders, I would have seen it all. But I didn't. Jealousy, anxiety and a slight sense of desperation shook me.
Beer could not calm me and I found myself lying awake, having to write to get this off my chest. The beginnings of a great letter never sent lay on the back page of a discarded notebook. Its themes all too framiliar. I knew I was in trouble because I now admitted I cared. A few days later, I spoke those words that kill friendships between the sexes. Things just haven't been the same.
She was the last great hope of the past year. Here's to the next. 
