Enter the Friend

Picture, if you dare—a 28-year-old me dressed up in floral—flannel!—pajamas and bunny slippers, playing the role of the last person on Earth in my brother Mark’s recurring Christmas play, “How the World Ends This Time.” Each Christmas Eve from as far back as I can remember, Mark staged a play that demonstrated all the destructive things that might happen to end the world, and told a tragic tale of the last victim standing. And, here I was again, playing the victim.

Mark has decided to set up the back story for his sudden success by demonstrating his childhood start as a writer, director, actor (not to mention, set and costume designer, and dictator). I would be playing the 5-year-old version of myself, outfit and all. On this occasion I was to be consumed by a massive fire that had been simultaneously set across continents, and large enough to dry up all bodies of water aside from the oceans (exactly how was my brother semi-famous?). As I was encircled by the flames in the center of the faux-living room, I was to do a farewell interpretive dance, twirling, sashaying, and mocking the flames until there was nowhere left to dance. For a five year old, this was like playing Hamlet. For a 28 year old, it was more like playing Barney the dinosaur.

“Wiggle your fingers more,” Mark told me. “Come on, you used to love this.”

“Mark, I was five,” I said. “Do you have any idea how embarrassing this is now?!”

Mark smiled and turned around, “Now I’ve just got to figure out some kind of pulley system to get the cardboard fire to encircle you.”

The show was in one week, and I’d only just agreed to do this, so Mark was eager to get a perfect dress rehearsal underway by the next night. Mark insisted he needed to be alone to figure out how the set was going to work, so I was free to go. Even though I was supposed to be back at the theater by 8am the next morning, and it was well after 10pm now, I didn’t feel like going home. I thought things were going to be so much easier once I stopped making decisions, but it had turned out to be much more difficult. I never would have agreed to do this play had I left it up to me. But I still had hope that down the line, strangers would turn my life around, little by little, into something at least a little less boring, if not into something great.

When I got to my car I checked my phone. Chlo had texted me a few times telling me to come meet her at our neighborhood bar. I texted back to make sure she was still there and got a message right back that said, “Hurry Up!!!”

When I walked into the bar I could see Chlo was loaded; she was hunched over the bar and appeared to have stopped lifting her glass to drink from it. Anytime she slurped from a glass sitting firmly on the counter, chances were Chlo was wasted. This didn’t surprise me, nor that she was flanked by guys. However, I nearly had an asthma attack when I realized one of the guys was Brian. This was not exactly the relaxing nightcap I had hoped for.

“Cece!” Chlo yelped.

I wanted to die. Then Brian put his arm around me and kissed my cheek. And I wanted to die a little less. Brian was there with his friend Peter, who looked a little familiar to me, but I couldn’t quite place it. We moved from the bar to a table in the back, and ordered a pitcher of Margaritas. I avoided looking at Brian by quickly draining two glasses—no salt. Then it hit me.

“You’re Peter Kaplan,” I said screwing my index finger into Peter’s arm. “You were in my chemistry class.” Peter, I was informed, was in Brian’s band. He had the quintessential guitarist haircut—longer on one side, falling into his eyes, and he wore dark black eyeglasses. He was beautiful. “You were such a nerd,” I continued. Again, me being me. “I mean, you were such a nerd, but now you’re not!” Chlo kicked me under the table, but missed and kicked the table, sloshing the drinks into sticky puddles.

“Yeah I was!” said Peter, laughing. “And, God, I had the biggest crush on you,” he said straight-faced, bushing his hair out of his eyes. Now this, I was not expecting. I could tell Brian wasn’t expecting this either. We’d entered some strange alternate dimension where suddenly I was the center of attention. Brian put his arm around me again and pulled himself close to me. I thought guys were supposed to be less competitive than girls when it came to this stuff, Bros before Hos and all that.

“Cece’s brother Mark and I were like best friends in high school,” Brian told Peter.

“I know your brother,” Peter said. “He’s doing that show, A Marked Man, right? At the Trapdoor?”

“Cece’s gonna be in the show,” Chlo said, before hunching back over to sip her Margarita.

“Don’t ask,” I said. “But, speaking of which, I’ve got to get home.”

I hugged Chlo good-bye, and Peter told me not to worry, and that he’d drive her home. I thanked Peter and again apologized for calling him a nerd, to which he responded, “Do you still have that Kermit the Frog lunch pail you used to carry around?” I shook my head no, and he pushed his hair out of his eyes again. This guy that I’d barely noticed had paid real attention to me, and it was a strange and unfamiliar feeling.

“I’ll walk you to your car,” Brian said. I grabbed my bag and we walked outside. It was chilly and Brian put his arm around me (three times, if you’re counting!). What was happening? I opened my car door, threw my bag on the passenger seat and turned around to say good-bye to Brian when he kissed me. I was shocked, amazing, enthralled, and confused. So I kissed him back, and I swear—somewhere off in the distance, I could hear Damon Albarn of Blur singing, “You and I, collapsed in love…” But then I actually heard someone saying, “Cece, you forgot your scarf.” It was Peter. And the sweet passion I’d been feeling turned sour, as Peter pushed his hair out of his eyes and extended my scarf to me across the roof of my car.

“Wait up, Pete,” Brian called. “See ya, Cece.” And, like that, it was over.

I woke up the next morning to meet Mark. I didn’t want to tell him about seeing Brian, because I was kind of scared of what he might say. I didn’t want to hear his opinion; his opinion tended to take the fun out of things, and I didn’t get to have that much fun.

We spent the day rehearsing, and I actually recaptured some of the joy I’d had as a kid, whirling in circles, the dervish amidst the cardboard flames. It was great spending time with Mark. He was the star; I was the little sister. It was comfortable.

As I got ready to leave I checked my phone to see if Brian had called. Stranger yet, Brian had called, and so had Peter. They both wanted to go out. Um, what? I tried to call Chlo, but her voicemail said she was out of commission for the rest of the day (bad hangover).

I know I’m young, and you’re not supposed to tie yourself down unnecessarily, but you can’t really date two friends at once, can you? Well, at least, I don’t think I can. So, again, I leave it to you.