Friends.

I should like to meet with you one day, just you and me, and a little privacy.

I can see us, sitting opposite one another, at a table tucked away in the back corner of a cafe. You would be kind with me as you always are, and ask me questions about work and about music, while waiting for our orders to arrive. I would answer as best as I could, occasionally daring to look up to meet your gaze, picking at the skin near my thumb nail under the table to hide my nervousness from you. My mind would be racing about what to say, whilst at the same time trying to remain calm and anticipating with terror that moment when I will have to speak my heart and share my truth.

The conversation would temporarily quieten down as the waiter brings the coffees. I reach for mine instantly, blowing on it to cool it down, staring at the liquid – doing anything to avoid the one reason I had come for. I take in breath after breath, trying to find in the air a sense of courage perhaps. The words – so often rehearsed in my head – turn into a jumble of non-sense that my mind labels as stupid and insignificant, lame and pointless. You sit quietly, waiting, for you know there is something I long to say.

“I do not want to take up too much of your time”, I start, lifting my eyes to meet yours, and lowering them back to my long black, “so I will say this in the simplest way I can think of.”

I take another breath, stare some more at the coffee, blow once more on its steam, feeling even more acutely the anxiety making me want to hide and run away as far as I can.

“I’ve come to the conclusion that -“, shoulders lift with the inhale, “- I want you to be my friend.”

Sigh of relief. There, it is said. It is out in the open. As I gulp the coffee, feeling first my tongue, and then my throat, burn, I await your laugh. I await your judgment of me. Or perhaps you will get up and walk away, and your cup will stay on the table as the sole evidence of a beautiful chance ruined by my feelings and honesty. I await your reaction, head lowered. I wish I could look up, and smile at you, but I am ready to cry – oh how I want to hide. But I hear silence, deafening silence. And then –

“I am very touched by that,” you say, “of course I will be your friend.”

I timidly lift my face to find you smiling at me. I try to smile back, but another weight stops the corners of my mouth from curving.

“So … you don’t think I’m crazy or weird?”

Boom boom, boom boom, my heart hits my heavy chest.

“Not at all, Eliza, not at all.”

I lean back in my chair, exhausted and overwhelmed with emotion. Our eyes meet and I feel more confident to smile. I know you have seen me, I know you have heard me. And I know that you know how much this means to me. And I know that today was just the continuation and recognition of a friendship that already existed, for you have always been my friend.