I was talking to an old friend the other day. I hardly have anyone left from my past, and most of them I don’t really miss. To be honest, I’ve only ever had one true friend. He died when he was nineteen, and I never went looking for a replacement. Didn’t feel the need. There were friends I used to hang out with all the time, buddies I’d only see on weekends at one of our usual bars, and acquaintances I’d bump into on the street — we’d smile, chat for thirty seconds, then head off in opposite directions. And I’d be thinking, “What the hell was that guy’s name again?” I’ve always been terrible with names. I don’t even remember all my high school classmates’ names. Hell, sometimes I can’t even recall the names of girls I dated… even a couple I actually lived with.
So, we were chatting. The kind of harmless reminiscing where you relive the dumb things you used to do, trying to outdo each other with even dumber stories. Splashing around in old sins like we’re searching for pearls at the bottom of a muddy pond. And, of course, the old mutual acquaintances pop up.
One of them was a real loser. The kind of guy who never learned from his mistakes — a confident idiot who always thought he was the victim of circumstances, while in his head he did everything right. Like the time he shot himself in the face with a revolver-style gas pistol. Not on purpose — he was just bored, messing around with it, while we were in the living room watching a movie. The shot went off, silence fell. We paused the movie and just sat there… and then everyone burst out laughing. The door swung open, and there he was — red-faced, snot and spit all over, arms out like he was asking for divine intervention, only able to make some pitiful noises. We were on the floor, laughing for minutes.
For him, reality was just raw material for a story — and the further from the truth it was, the more confidently he told it. If he was talking, the fish weighed fifty kilos, the party had “at least a hundred people,” and every single girl was “totally into him.” Reality, of course, had other opinions. And that’s the guy I want to talk about today.
Dates run into each other;
We fight the endless battle of the sexes.
She’s confusing, I can’t make sense of her
Last time she wanted it, now she doesn’t.
She defends, retreats again,
Attacks me with her eyes, all innocent.
She hesitates, won’t come — who cares?!
The city is full of love.
She hides behind cover, declares war,
Lets go, grabs me again, plays her games.
Writes my number on a scrap of paper,
Promises to call before the summer ends.
Now she has to go — “What do I think of her?!”
Her boyfriend’s waiting in half an hour.
If that’s what matters to her, I don’t care —
The city is full of love.
Doesn’t matter if you’re alone,
Doesn’t matter if you’re alone.
The city is full of love!
I was never exactly the picture of moral integrity. The golden rule of friendship — never go after your buddy’s girlfriend — was more of a suggestion to me than an actual law. With this guy in particular… I crossed that line more than once. And not just with one girl, but that’s another story.
The first time, though… that’s worth telling.
I first met the girl when I was fifteen and she was seven. Just a sweet little kid, my friend’s niece. Time passed, she grew up. By my buddy’s birthday, she was there too — as his girlfriend. She was seventeen, he was twenty-five.
At the party, a few of us were in the kitchen talking. I was already married by then, in an “open” relationship. We had one rule: a one-time, emotionless fling was fine, as long as we both knew about it. Back then I thought that rule would keep me in check. Now I know it’s more like a guardrail on a bridge — nice to know it’s there, but if you really want to go over, it’s not going to stop you.
I’ve always liked beautiful women. Tall, slim, sporty types — the kind most guys are too intimidated to even talk to because they think “She’d never go for me.” They’re often the loneliest ones in the room. I could talk to them easily, and ten minutes later they’d be sharing little secrets about their lives, just because I knew how to listen.
Naturally, I sat next to her in the kitchen. The kid had become a stunning woman. We slowly drifted out of the group conversation and into our own little corner. I knew she was my friend’s girlfriend, and at first, I honestly wasn’t thinking anything “bad.”
– What did you get him for his birthday?
– He asked me to sleep with him.
– But you’ve been together for months.
– I know… but I don’t want to.
Life plays strange games sometimes. A smile, a gesture, or a single sentence can tangle two people together with no way out. For us, that sentence was:
– I’ll be twenty-four in July.
– I’m happy to give you an advance — she said, as if it were the most natural thing in the world.
Things got serious from there. She left a little later, claiming she had a headache. About an hour after that, I followed her. And my friend? He was out there, drunk and dancing at his own party, while his girlfriend was with me, enjoying something she didn’t want with him.
It was one of the best nights of my life. She was the first one I ever broke our “marriage deal” for. I couldn’t — and didn’t want to — stop at just once. There was something about her that made every rule and every sense of loyalty feel irrelevant. Back then, I thought it was just an exciting little detour. Now I know it was the first domino I tipped over. The only difference is, when it fell, I still thought I was the one deciding which way the rest would go.
My little friend, carefree laughter fills the classroom,
This isn’t a life-lesson now, because living has its price.
Hey little miss, what a party this school is,
How the boys beat around the bush —
Or maybe they’re flirting,
And you’re always waiting for the real thing.
...
So be happy as long as the Earth keeps turning,
And your feet still fit under the school desk,
Yes, be happy.