In life, obvious circumstances have a tendency to remain unrealized until someone verbalizes the truth that everyone has subconsciously accepted. Ignoring the elephant in the room is oftentimes the socially permissible option, and consequently, when I run into my ex-boyfriend I will conduct myself as if we have no history; when you have a huge blemish on your face I'll avoid staring or questioning at all costs; and when I buy a box of Entenmann's Frosted Devil's Food Doughnuts I expect you aren't thinking that I plan to eat the entire box on the way home from the grocery store.
In all of these circumstances, there is a disjoint between the polite assumption and reality. Similarly, there are often truths in ourselves and our relationships that we don't recognize or believe until one critical moment. For example, my friend Ilyssa used to ask me to bring her things all the time, like food and class notes. I had no problem spoiling her a little because in my mind, friends do that for each other. However, she lived in a dorm that didn't have a buzzer and rather than come get me, she would make me wait outside until someone exited the building, regardless of the weather. The strange part is that this behavior never seemed ridiculous to me until my roommate told me that humans are supposed to be vertebrates. Ouch, and point taken.
Yet there are also happy truths that stay hidden until someone is courageous. Perhaps the most obvious example is the tradition of saying "I love you." No matter how confidently you believe that someone cares for you, it's the tipping point of 1-4-3 that propels you into the intoxication of absolute adoration.
With that in mind, Rob has been one of my closest friends for the last two and half years and transitioned into his current role as my non-romantic life partner/entire social life at least nine months ago. Still, I've always suffered from a slight complex because I didn't know if it was weird to call him my best friend. He has a soulmate from back home, and realistically, my twin sister will always hold the top spot in my heart. Yet explaining Rob's significance without using the words "best" an "friend" is near-impossible, so I frequently call him that behind his back.
Tonight, things changed. Rob drove me home after dinner and when we pulled up to my apartment building, he saw one of his coworkers and rolled down the window to say hi. When his coworker asked what he was doing in the area, Rob nonchalantly responded, "my best friend Betsy lives here." To anyone who knows the depth of our attachment, "best friend" wouldn't seem to scratch the surface. Yet somehow, this was a very important moment to me. I told Rob goodnight and as he drove away, his headlights weren't the only thing beaming. I'm writing this post a few hours later and am still kind of gooey from the residual effects of being called his best friend. It was special. I feel special. Thanks Rob, for saying it like it is. Keep an eye out for a package--your half of our best friends necklace in the mail.
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