The Things We Do for Friends

~for scott, who has territorial issues sprinkled with a touch of "what about me" syndrome

I'm not sure when I noticed him. I remember the first time I saw him, and I remember thinking quite distinctly that this man with the model wife and golden children was most certainly, unequivocally, without-a-doubt-gay. But that's not really when I noticed him. I imagine, being who I am, that I noticed Scott when he began his ascension. That's more or less MY m.o. but this story isn't about me.

At some point somewhere down the road, he took the mic and ran the show. He was a gift to us, a cause for celebration, and a venue whereby our leader could draw in the masses for a hour-long altar call. He was my music minister and my choir director, and most importantly, he was the person I needed to suck up to in order to nab the coveted Easter Sunday solos (ha! You thought I was going to say, "friend" didn't you, Scott? That's what you get for being so narcissistic.)

I'm not sure when we became friends - not the exact moment, or even a fond recollection that would call back the day. All I can recall is that he was there, and it was like he was always there. If we weren't rehearsing, we were firing off e-mails all day long. Back and forth we would discuss music, or gossip about people that thought they could sing, and sometimes if the weather was right and service had been a bit too long the night before, we would proceed to fight like I've never fought with anyone else in my entire life. By this time we knew WAY too much about each other NOT to wield the most wicked of swords - if only to try to make our point and prove our superiority.

And if Scott and I were out sans mates, we were always ALWAYS assumed to be mates ourselves. We kind of liked that, though it would be years later before we could confess it.

And then the path was cleared, and it might very well have been a happily-ever-after for my music man and me. It might have, except for two small problems:

(1) The only attraction we really had for each other was related to our admiration of each others' passion and talent for music. We idealized what life might be like if we were partners, because we were already best friends.
(2) Um, he's gay.

So other than one very awkward attempt at "seeing what would happen if we, um, you know..." which incidentally got as far as a half-hearted footsie match, we left it alone. It was the best decision we ever didn't make.

So I've got this friend named Scott. I used to think I had a crush on him, but I didn't. I just love him. He still knows more about me than most anyone else, and occasionally we still draw our swords. Mostly, we just miss each other like hell.