Amity in a strange package
They weren’t a couple. Oh, no.
He was the captain of the Soccer Club, lithe, athletic and quick. She belonged to the Drama and Literature Club, with a penchant for writing and speaking extensively.
They belonged in parallel universes- he was usually the type that came late to school, had a knack for irritating teachers and at the same time making the other kids laugh. To come to school to study was most definitely not his objective- he liked to think that his world revolved around soccer, burgers, girls, guitar and himself. She was smart- she took studies seriously, was strong in her words and behavior, organized a bunch of activities in school, and although her world didn’t seem to revolve around herself, a lot of people were dependent on her.
He was the Loki of the school, she the Amazon Warrior Queen.
And yet, when they two did meet, they acted as a foil to each other’s natures. He would sober down, and display a surprisingly intellectual nature. Indeed, he had shocked her considerably the first time they’d started talking, with his astounding knowledge of subjects ranging from Shakespeare, History and literature to the workings of the modern machine. She, in turn, seemed to let go of whatever current stress that troubled her, like a deflating balloon, and laughed and romped about easily and naturally. She amazed him with her devious nature while playing pranks, and then getting them out of trouble, in fact it was she who had suggested the idea of a senior year prank.
She helped him get serious with life, he helped her enjoy it.
Yet, only a handful knew that they were friends. To the rest of the world, it seemed like two so very different people, polar opposites of each other, could not even get along with each other, unless they were going out. And even then, it would be a completely platonic relationship, for he was handsome, with shaggy brown hair falling lazily into his eyes, and she was classically beautiful- light boned, slim and smooth, with waves of jet black hair.
It was the little things they did, that kept the glue of their friendship fresh and strong. They went out for a McDonald’s Chocolate-Dip Vanilla cone every weekend and sat in his car, listening to the top-ten FM songs. Or they’d to the beach on a moonlit evening, lie in the sand and look at the twinkling spread of celestial bodies while commenting (or insulting, which was more often the case) on the reel-life stars. Sometimes, she’d pair up with a girlfriend, and he with a bro, and they’d play a little one-one basketball, in which, most humiliatingly, she’d beat him. Their favorite pastime, however, was listening to him play the guitar as she wrote lyrics for his songs, while they argued about everything.
Like Mariede Svign said, true friendship is never serene. They never had a peaceful time together- their evenings would be terminated in her screaming in response to his “funny” jokes and hitting him with whatever was there in her hand, or in some fight or the other. But they always made up, every time.
This seems like a love story, doesn’t it? But it’s not. They’d both deny it, and here’s an anecdote to prove ‘em so.
He was upset. The ray of laughter had gone from his eyes and his lazy smirk was wiped away. He could sit and list his problems for hours. His girlfriend had cheated on him again, his mom and dad fought like coyotes over a mate and his soccer had suffered so badly because of this that Coach had made him warm the bench through three games and threatened to completely withdraw him from the club.
He didn’t notice her, too busy wallowing in his pool of problems till she smacked him so hard around the head that he yelped. ‘Get up.’ Contempt laced every syllable in her tone. He didn’t care and turned away from, not bothering to fight as she dragged him to her car, and started driving.
He didn’t resist, till she pulled up at the field. ‘Oh, come on,’ he asked her, annoyed. ‘You cannot be serious.’ In response, she walked to the goalpost, and kicked the soccer ball to his head. ‘Ow!’ he groaned. But he still didn’t feel the adrenaline rush he experienced near a soccer ball.
‘Come ON, coward!’ she screamed from the other end. ‘Man up! Are you so gutless as to be whining like a little doll-less girl when she dumped you?’ ‘She cheated on me, you freak!’ he yelled back. Memories of the past few weeks crowded on him. Watching in disbelief as his girlfriend kissed his best friend in the school compound, hiding in his room, struggling against the hot, hateful tears as his dad came close to hitting his mom…they swirled around and around in his head, till he couldn’t bear it anymore, no more.
He kicked the ball. She blocked it effortlessly. ‘Useless lump of crap!!’ Coach’s comments heightened his anger, making him kick the ball so hard that it swished into the goal, before she had time to register its movement. This went on till his old fervor in the field returned. He tackled her without difficulty, seamlessly connected with the ball and gave long, graceful kicks. By the time he was done, he was sweating profusely, but he grinned. Hugging her, despite her squeals of disgust, he said ‘You’re a gem of a friend, y’know that?’ ‘Aren’t I always?’ she smirked, obviously learnt from him. They smiled at each other and walked out for a McDonald’s ice-cream cone. ‘By the way,’ she said. ‘My friend, the one in the Chess Club, likes you. A lot.’
‘Really? The cute redhead?’ They’d reached the outlet, and were now slurping the chocolate in the cool evening air. He laughed. ‘I’d like to take her out sometime.’
And that, my friends, is what I call true friendship.
