How to Fall in Love with a Friend
October, 2019: Two friends and dance partners navigate uncharted waters in San Francisco.
Can I touch your hair?
She asks me
A strange question indeed
We’re standing next to one another
At Ocean Beach
Atop the O'Shaughnessy Seawall—
Adorned by generations of graffiti artists
With bulbous shapes and garish colors
We’re facing west
Our gazes fixed well past the shore break
And the sloppy mess of waves
Like agitated clothing and suds—
Beneath the lid of a washing machine
I come here often
Usually in the morning to check the surf
And most often it looks just as junky as this
But tonight I don’t give a damn about the surf
Because my friend and I have come to see the sunset
On a rare warm and windless evening
During a magical time of year:
Indian Summer—
In San Francisco
But this is no ordinary sunset
It’s the kind of sunset so spectacular
That it draws out the locals
They emerge from their homes
Sandals
Boom-boxes
Wagons carrying coolers of beer
Sometimes dogs
Sometimes kids, too
And they sit in the dunes and watch
Surrounded by ice plant—
And absolute splendor
I tell my friend it’s ok to touch my hair—
I mean it seems innocent enough
But the moment she does
I feel an incredible urge to plunge my own hand
Deep into her sloppy mess of dirty blond curls
Pull her face up against mine
And kiss her so well and good
That it would do justice
To this magnificent moment—
This glorious sunset:
Orange cotton candy billows
Decorating a cobalt sky
Somehow I don’t kiss her
The truth is I know exactly why:
We’re friends!
And dance partners
And this is a line we’ve never crossed
But with her hand in my hair
And kissing on my mind
My oh my has that line really started to blur—
If not perforate
So we get back into my car
I’ve waited this long
I can wait a little longer—
At least I think I can
See I’ve known her since early 2015
Like me she is also a scientist—
And a lindy hopper, of course
We’d dance really well together—
A minimum requirement
But there was something else—
Something special about this one
Every time I’d see her
I’d wonder if one day
There’d be more—
Than just dance
And science
I was married then—
But desperately trying to escape
Meanwhile my friend was slaying her own dragons
Dating
Trying on different versions of herself
It just wasn’t the time
And timing really is everything
(Believe the hype!)
Over the years
We would occasionally see one another—
And dance
And make small talk
Sometimes about science
But also about other fascinating stuff
That would be fascinating to no one—
Except her and me
But she kept dating other people
I finally left my disastrous marriage
So then I also dated other people
And she also kept dating other people
Lots of a little romances for each of us
Hearts always aflutter at the beginning
But after one week—
Or maybe two or three
It’s goodbye and on to the next one
One of the problems with dating:
Those little romances?
They all kind of add up to meh
This one time we met up at Le Colonial
Just for dancing and chit-chat
Like we had done again and again—
Through the years
But this time
Between dances
I ended up being her wingman
Setting her up at the bar with a muggle
(That’s what some dancers call people who don’t lindy hop)
He had a really cute beard too
But it didn’t last
More meh
That happened a few months ago
When I was still hung up about my ex
And dealing with custody
And numerous other problems
But it seems foolish now—
To have set my friend up with some random guy
I mean on paper we’re still just friends
Yet somehow in real life everything is changing
My mind is swirling
Do I risk losing a friend and dance partner?
Because I want more?
Part of me doesn’t want to take that chance
But my feelings for my friend
Are starting to spiral out of control again
I remind myself:
This is only gonna work—
If she wants it, too
So after the absurdly beautiful sunset
We hit up my favorite Thai dive in the Tenderloin
For Pad Kee Mao
And Pad See Ew
Basically spicy and mild versions—
Of the same wide rice noodle dish
Kind of like me and her
Spicy and mild
Yin and yang
See what I mean?
My thoughts are clearly out of control
A little while later
We sit down on an uncomfortable red couch
At an underground speakeasy called Local Edition
In keeping with tradition it features a clock in the front window
Along with an assortment of old typewriters
Video cameras
And all sorts of other vintage artifacts
Anyhow we sit down
We’re both sweaty and dishelved from dancing
The band goes on a break
A dreadlocked server hands us a menu
But we already know the cocktails we want:
An Ava Gardner and a Mother Superior
Even my out of control thoughts
Can’t manage to turn that into a romantic metaphor
Meanwhile I notice that my friend is sitting uncomfortably close to me—
On the uncomfortable couch
I attempt to process this
But I’m interrupted by another woman
Someone my friend and I both know from the dance scene
The three of us have an awkward conversation
We reluctantly invite her to join us
But mercifully she has to run
Sorry that was so weird
I say to my friend
That’s okay, I know why it was weird
She says back to me
She’s one of your orbiters
And she’s freaked out to see me here with you—
Even though we’re just friends
So my friend is clearly right about why that was so awkward
But what’s this business about being just friends?
I decide it’s time to do something—
By now my just friend is just about sitting in my lap
I think about putting my hand on her thigh
That’s when I realize her hand is already on mine—
Inches from my crotch, in fact
The overwhelming urge to kiss her wells up inside me again
I suggest we get some air
We leave Local Edition and head across town to Club Deluxe
By now our sweat-soaked clothing adhering to our skin
Fogging up the car windows—
But not in the way I would like to be fogging up the car windows
Dammit, slow down, make sure she’s ready
I warn myself—
But I’m not sure my self is really listening
Anyhow Club Deluxe is packed and steamy
Local Edition was also hot and and muggy
But here the floor-to-ceiling windows of the club are actually dripping—
With mist on the outside
And remnants of hot breath and sweat on the inside
I can barely see into the club
But we do manage to get in
And even cram in a dance—
Carving out a sliver of dance floor
Between the tiny stage
And the smattering of tables—
Covered in rings of residue from sticky cocktails
And the weathered gloss black diner chairs—
Visible cracks showing in the seats
With discolored orange foam peeking out
So one dance turns into three
And then a break for greyhounds—
With freshly-squeezed grapefruit juice
In spite of our hyperthermia
And sweat-soaked clothing
We’re literally leaning all over one another
In what I might call an accidental embrace
But there wasn’t anything accidental about it—
Not in the slightest
Our bodies are beat, almost limp
And touching as much we were
I could feel her chest move up and down against mine—
With each breath
So we’re still just friends, right?
But my mind is still swirling
It’s getting late
I think the moment is near
We leave Club Deluxe
My stomach suddenly fills with a swarm of butterflies—
But they feel more like vampire bats
My still just friend exits the club first
I linger for a moment—
To say a quick farewell to Patrick the doorman
My friend gets a few paces ahead of me
By now temps are in the 40s and we’re socked in with fog
We can’t even tell if we’re hot or cold anymore—
Because it’s kind of both
Visibility is maybe two blocks
And the lamp posts are doing that thing in noir films
Where a triangle of light reveals a thick mist—
Against an otherwise dark and moonless sky
Haight Street became a movie set
Club Deluxe the backdrop—
And we’re the stars
The inverted ocean water in the sky is so thick
It’s collecting on our clothes
Mixing with our dance sweat—
In an unholy cocktail
This was the moment:
It’s time to find out for sure
If we’re still—
Just friends
Hey you, come here!
I beckoned her over
Extending my arms for a hug
With her signature gorgeous smile on her face
She took two-and-a-half big steps in my direction
And fell into my arms
I didn’t ask her if I could touch her hair
We were way past that shit now
Instead—
During her last half step
I reached up and softly caressed the back of her neck
Then I raised my hand—
Slipping it deep into the thick curls tumbling down her shoulders
Simultaneously I guided her lips toward mine
Our mouths colliding
In a first kiss so picture perfect
That the only thing missing is the vintage movie cameras—
We left those back at Local Edition
That was risky
My now more than just friend says
After we make out right there in front of Club Deluxe—
For a million years
Was it really though?
Perhaps not so much
Because I watched for every sign—
Every nonverbal cue
I knew she wasn’t going to kiss me
Not without me making the first move
But I also knew she wasn’t going to dodge my kiss
Because I waited for her to be right there with me—
For almost five years, in fact
And she was well worth the wait
But the waiting isn’t over—
I have an early flight to catch the next morning
So we have to cut our evening short
And because of three successive trips back east—
Between the two of us
It turns out I don’t get to see my more than just friend again—
For almost a month
So I have to wait some more:
You know, for the really good stuff
But the waiting only makes it that much better
Which is why the waiting is worth it—
Dare I say always worth it
So is the risk-taking—
I had to take the risk of losing a friend
In order to find myself an amazing lover
From her hand in my hair at sunset—
To a Hollywood-style first kiss in the dense fog
That led to so much more
It was perfect
But the best part—
Not to be overlooked:
I love this woman like no other
But I also like her
Because she’s still—
My friend