About Nude Not Naked

‘I don’t want you to meet him or talk to him or have anything to do with him,’ she said.

‘But he’s my lawyer and we’ve known each other as long as I have known you, E. What do you want me to do?’

‘Don’t see him. Find another lawyer. Don’t have any contacts with him,’ she replied.

He was my lawyer and E’s separated husband. She knew him as a teenager and I was sometimes included into their dating routine. After four years of courtship, they got married and shared children.

The very first Christmas they parted, I took her children to the shopping mall and bought them presents. I called him up and he was there when I was busy with the kids in the toy store. These are no ordinary kids. I was there, especially for the 2nd child – at the monthly check-ups, looking at the ultra scans with her and even pushed her into the labour room.

I had not met E for a few weeks prior to the Saturday afternoon Christmas shopping and she did not respond to my phone calls.

I guess I should have known then what I do now.



*
‘You ok there?’ I asked him. Music was banging against the wall that he leant against. His eyes were squint like little slits on post boxes.

‘Yeah.’ Arif let out a little yawn. It must have been past 2 a.m. when he walked out for a breath of fresh air. I took after him, just to keep check. Two years after dating E, he gave up smoking because his lungs could not take it anymore. Then he gave up drinking like a mad person because his liver just could not cope with the abuse.

‘Hey you. What are you doing out here?’ E asked. She slid into his arms and gave him a hug. ‘Come in. Don’t stand out here alone. Lots of party!’

They walked into Lola, quickly getting lost amongst the hundreds of beautiful people on a weekend night.



*
E happened to be around for the weekend some weeks ago and her friend, John dropped by. ‘This is quite a scene, isn’t it?’ he asked. His head was bopping to the music.

‘You really think that this is good?’ My eyes nearly popped in disbelief. My definition of a good night often included two shots of vodka to start the night, followed by crazy dance moves (but no sandwich between two girls) for three hours in a row and ends with fried instant noodles with eggs. His happened to be a crowded Irish bar. But then again, what else do you expect from a 49 year old man who has tasted almost everything in life?

‘So what kind of sports do you do?’ he asked, between puffs.

‘Erm, sports like in exercise?’ I asked sheepishly. He nodded. ‘Well I have not exercise since I left school.’ That wasn’t the type of conversation I wished to have with a stranger at my drinking table. E had left him in my responsibility for a bit while she wandered off to another table on a social call. ‘I have been meaning to join some kind of yoga or pilates.’

The fact was I felt quite stupid. I was talking to a seasoned rugby player and all I could cough up was a miserable, ‘I don’t do sports.’ I would have committed suicide if I had a conversation with someone as boring as I was that night.

‘This place is fantastic. Too bad E doesn’t talk much about this other side of her life. She has never mentioned this fantastic place nor you.’



*
‘You should check E’s photos in her Facebook. She looked absolutely stunning but you could see a very poor thing Arif in the shadows of her photos.’ Alex wrote me a few days ago.

‘Facebook? E has a Facebook?! Oh god.’

I have always been a strange person. I never want to join any clubs that wants me for a member. And I was never one to follow fashion or trends. As a matter of fact, I was anti-trend and I was quite anti-whateverbook they are marketing these days.

I do not own a Facebook. I don’t want to register into the latest what-so-not in thing, Myspace, yourspace or whatever photo album thing. I hated the concept of ‘Now check me out. I have a kabillion friends and my friends said that I am phatcool.’ In my book, what’s cool is what is the latest uncool. It takes guts to stand alone in your thoughts, opinions and beliefs.

So when all the girls did the Rachel, I went for a full-blown 50s curls. I did the gypsie/traveller look before it was hip in Notting Hill and retro before the word even existed in fashion magazine.

But I bent the rules and registered Facebook so I could see what the big fuss with E’s photos were, according to Alex. I found out two things.

First of all was the fact that Alex owned a fucking Facebook too and he was listed as one of her friends. There were 11 other guys listed on E’s book and no girls, so I know I have no reasons to be angry with her.

She has just conveniently forgotten to share with me that:

• she had a Facebook.


• I was not invited.


• But Alex is.

Second was that I had three friends listed before I joined. One turned out to be my Swedish Love, so we started corresponding for quite a bit. It was lovely to see photos of his siblings, who are all so grown up now. Even his baby brother is now a dashing 18 year old.

Facebook was an eye opener, bringing some friendships closer and tearing others wide apart.
*
These are all rubbing in more salt into the wound. I have been licking this wound for the longest time. I have always known but I have pretended otherwise. That was the only way to sustain the longest friendship I know.

‘Hey, why didn’t you come last week?’ AB asked. He gave me a warm squeeze when I turned up at the DJ console just as he was about to start his session.

‘E had taken ill, so I didn’t come. I am not going to come here on my own,’ I said to AB. He was still in his blonde phase and E used to call him ‘Blondie’ then.

‘But E was here last week,’ he said. ‘We talked and drank together. As a matter of fact, she even asked me to join her for a short trip next week.’

‘But E said that she had flu and that she didn’t want to go out. So I stayed back home…’ I said. My eyes were lowered as AB gave me another squeeze. He patted my head, popped his ciggie between his lips and started spinning his usual tunes.




*
‘I need to bitch,’ I typed to MiniBoyFriend R. I could see him on webcam, R in his relax white T-shirt and jeans. I could see his room and everything in it, which included a bottle Heineken as teatime drink and an ashtray stuffed with cancer causing cigarettes.

‘Go ahead, shot me,’ R typed into the Yahoo Messenger.

And so I told him all that had happened. About E and Alex on her Facebook and me not being there or even knowing that it existed. I told him the sense of betrayal I felt inside for a friend that I held so dear to my heart. It broke my heart time and again.

‘Plus she failed to tell me that she went out for dinner with The Bachelor last October.’

‘So what?’

‘Well initially I was a bit confused as to why she was angry when I told her that I went out with The Bachelor. Everything fell into place when The Bachelor told me that he had gone out for dinner with her once last October but nothing happened between them,’ I typed.

‘Nothing big deal about a dinner, right?’

‘Nothing at all. But it helped me understand why she was upset when I told her that I went out for a few dinner dates with The Bachelor. If there is nothing to hide, she could have just casually mentioned that she had been out with him.’

‘True, true.’

‘And seriously, I don’t give a fuck if they have fucked. They are adults and I am not too bothered. I am just bothered by the fact that she left out such an important fact.’

‘Maybe she is just jealous.’ R typed. ‘Lots of people are, for all that you are and all that you have. And we aren’t talking only about boys.’



*
I have never gotten used to the word. Jealousy, what does that mean in reality? Does it mean that you would lie and cheat? Does it mean that you are jealous? Why would you want to be jealous? Where are the benefits? It is a monster that will only eat into your soul.

I am basically a social retard and I admired her natural talents all my life - E’s ability to light up parties and be the center of attention. How she is able to talk to people, making them feel at ease is so amazing to witness. I always felt that she was better and smarter than I ever was, because of her inborn ability to influence people and communicate her thoughts.

Although a social retard, I do know that there are some lines that I should not cross. Like how E wants to be private about her life and she wants to maintain a different circle of friends that I know she specifically do not want me to be part of. That is her right and I have also made sure that I did not intrude into spaces in her life, where she wanted some measure of privacy (and the boys that came with it).

It isn’t a competition, who has more boys and who received more attention. I have realised that whilst you can have the attention of a million men, at the end of the day, you can only go home with one and more often than not, just want to go home with one very special man.

I just cannot get over the fact that I feel betrayed by sharing this friendship with her. Time and time again, I sniff out news that I felt she should have told me, rather than me hearing it from other people. Alex told me to let it go. ‘You cannot make her be your friend. It doesn’t work that way.’



*
‘She has not been a very good friend but you have to forgive her. It isn’t healthy to hold so much ill feelings.’ R typed into the Yahoo Messenger. That was the typical answer I expect from R – an answer that was socially and politically correct, whether he actually liked it or not.

‘But honestly, we are still good friends.’ I wrote back.

I wished that I believed it today.