A Question of Friendship

Short Story Friends – A Question of Friendship

‘You’re cheating on her, aren’t you?’

He doesn’t blink at your words, and continues to play his apathetic game of pretending to be engrossed in a book he’s reading. At least you think he’s pretending to read. Once cannot simply tell with Arav “I-don’t-care” Mishra.  With a heavy (and unnecessarily) loud sigh, you take a seat next to him and wait patiently for him to register your presence.

Eventually, and with a great deal of exaggerated annoyance, he puts his book down and glances at you with that typical, disinterested gaze. His hair is messy, his lips are frowning, and yet you cannot help but feel a surge of affection for this boy you’ve called your best friend for more than a decade.

The trouble is, his girlfriend (the one he’s cheating on) happens to be another best friend too.

‘So what if I am?’ He finally counters, allowing himself to be drawn into the conversation, ‘why does it bother you? Live and let live, no?’

You aren’t amused by his quip. ‘Shouldn’t you be at least a little scared that I found out?’

His puzzled eyebrow is hint enough, that for once, he really doesn’t seem to understand the gravity of the situation. It’s odd how this boy -this best friend of yours- has stood by you when your mother died, has said all the right things when you confessed that your father is contemplating suicide but is stunned by the fact that cheating on a significant other, is not something to be ashamed of.

‘Well…’ He draws out the word, ‘that depends on you doesn’t it?’

You’re truly lost now. ‘Sorry, what?’

His eyes, usually so remote, flash for a second with the vitality of a new idea. ‘Why should I be scared if you aren’t going to tell anyone?’

His unspoken reminder that anyone refers to his girlfriend, who by all rights you should have gone to first, rings in your head. You brush away the impending doom that awaits you (because after all you have a choice to make) and try and force yourself to get angry. It works better than expected, and in less than ten seconds, you’re blaming him for putting you into such a terrible situation.

‘How could you do this to her?’ You demand loudly, not caring if you woke his room mate up from his usual afternoon nap.

Arav shrugs disinteredly. ‘I haven’t done anything to her; not yet anyway.’

You struggle to reign in your temper. Playing with words is always his way of excusing himself from the blame. You aren’t going to let him get away this time.

‘How’d you figure that one out?’

A grim smile plays on his lips and for the first time in the entire conversation, he holds your gaze. ‘Because she doesn’t know. And if she doesn’t know then…’ He trails off, but you finish the sentence in your head:

…then I haven’t done anything wrong. 

It’s that same question of a tree falling down in a forest. If no one saw the tree fall; then who’s to say it did? And if you want to take it one step further: whose to say the tree existed at all?

‘I’m going to tell her.’ You say, impulsively.

He spreads his hands, unconcerned. ‘I can’t stop you.’

You’re mad again, and once more because its because of selfish reasons. If you tell his girlfriend, then you break the relationship apart with no hope for forgiveness, and you will never be able to spend time with your two best friends -and in some cases, you only friends- together again. The trinity will be cracked forever, and no matter whose fault it is, you will suffer the consequences equally badly.

To buy some time, you ask the question that’s been troubling you the most.

‘Why didn’t you just break it off with her?’

He studies you for a second, as though contemplating the choice of lying to you. You’ve known him forever but the (ironic) truth is that till now, you still can’t tell when he’s being honest or not.

‘I didn’t want to.’ He responds, as though that’s supposed to make perfect sense, ‘you don’t get rid of an old car when you buy a new one.’

For a moment, you’re distracted by the terrible metaphor he’s used. ‘Uh, actually you do.’

His mouth twists down in disapproval. He never did like the fact that you’re the only one who can object to his literary prowess. ‘Fine,’ he exhales loudly, ‘you don’t get rid of your car when you use a taxi. Ha!’ His eyes gleam in triumph at finding the perfect example and for the hundredth time you wonder how you are friends with this boy.

He cares more for being right than anything else– even his own relationship with a girl he’s liked for two years.

Then you remember that no matter how badly he treats other people, he’s always been decent to you. Perhaps its because you’re his only remaining childhood friend, or its because he feels a certain protectiveness for you. You don’t know -you don’t want to know- but you realize, that that, if nothing else, must count for something.

Hoping he will give you a reason to defend him, you stare him down. ‘Will you stop?’

He doesn’t even think about the question. ‘No.’

‘Why not?’ You grit your teeth in an effort to stop from hitting him. Why is he making this so hard for you?

He glances at his book, bored of the conversation already. ‘Because I don’t want to.’ He repeats himself.

Fine, you think. If he can act like an ass, then you’re allowed to act like an ass as well. You stand up, not bothering to pick up the books you’ve knocked down in the act.

‘I’m telling her.’ You announce grandly.

For a moment you think you see a flash of disappointment in his eyes. Then, he bends down and picks up his scattered books. ‘Take tissues with you.’

You stand, aghast by his nonchalance. You were hoping that he’d try and beg for forgiveness, that he’d try and promise to repair his bridges, so that you had an excuse at least to try convince yourself that it wasn’t your duty as a friend to tell her. But now; he’s made it clear. He doesn’t care for her so you will not let her stay in this relationship.

Without another word, you head for the door.

‘Dinner at Kylin tomorrow night,’ he calls after you, ‘my treat.’

And that is the essence of your friendship. It doesn’t rest on anything but the both of you. It is immune from outside influences of people in your life or his. You are his friend, and that is it. Nothing will change his perception of you, even if you were to take a machine gun and go on a killing spree.

You shake your head as you walk down the stairs. You’d never thought that being friends with a socio-path (a highly functioning one at that) would have its rewards.

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