how very lucky to be a girl

How do I describe the chain of events that left me staring deep into the chasm of uncomfortable moments and the close of a friendship?

It may have started years ago.  I’d been on a rather wild trip overseas.  It was a large co-ed group, with a lot more men than women.  For a lot of nights.  There was hard work by day and hard drinking by night.  One thing led to another.  Different nights with different guys.  It was casual and fun and there were no expectations, no strings.  I was young and it was fun and safe.

By night we were ravenous and rapturous.  Libidinous and free.  Like Werewolves after a full moon, we were restored by dusk, pale and tired but otherwise no worse for the wear.  Our work and our relationships were unaffected by our trysts.  We were adults. No one spoke of them.  Or so I thought.

The truth is, however, that men gossip every bit as much as women.  They just do it differently, with less detail.  So there’s no such thing as “hooking up” with some guy and assuming he hasn’t told all the other guys.  But assume I did.  For years.

Time passed and we’ve all spread out across the globe.  I’ve stayed in touch with many, and I see a number of them whenever I can.

My friend Burger is one.  Our friendship always was one of the more solid.  Probably because he and I never slept together.  He was coming to New York.  His girlfriend was here on business and he was coming along for the ride.  I couldn’t wait to see them.

We decided on El Sombrero.  It was a hot day, Burger was in the mood for Mexican and I’ve yet to have a better frozen mystery margarita than the ones they serve up there.  So he and I met at my office to walk across town together and were joined by his girlfriend, Lisa, and her co-worker shortly after our arrival at The Hat.  It was a typically fun LES night.  The neighborhood has changed so much, and The Hat is one of a handful of places still there from way back in the day.  We took our time over pitchers of frozen mystery margarita (my name for the I-have-no-idea-what’s-in-this-delicious-drink-that-always-gets-me-more-fucked-up-than-seems-rationally-plausible).  We shared tortillas, tostones, and tostados.  We filled each other in on old friends and our current lives.  I told Burger about my dating life, and he told me about his plans to marry Lisa.  He was madly in love and I was happy for him.  After several hours, Lisa and her co-worker needed to leave.  They had an early call.

Truth be told, I could have called it quits myself, but Burger wanted to grab another drink.  We headed over to White Star for a whiskey nightcap.  Why, after all that mystery tequila, I cannot say, but we did, although we ultimately settled on absinthe.

It was late.  Even for an after hours joint.  We should leave.  Burger and I walked to the corner, where I hailed a cab.  I turned to Burger.  He enveloped me in one of his famous bear hugs.  But the hug seemed to last longer than it should.  And the cab was waiting.  I patted him on the back, gave him a kiss on the cheek and pulled away to get into the cab.

But before I could do so.  He whispered in my ear.

Do you want to fuck?

No I did not.  I couldn’t believe what I was hearing.  But I was pretty sure why I was hearing it.  Burger knew every unspoken thing that had ever happened on that trip.  I hadn’t told him.  But something in his tone told me that he’d known.  And that he’d been waiting his turn.  Except he wasn’t ever going to get one.  Especially not now.

I honestly don’t know if I even responded to him.  I only remember getting into the cab and pulling away without looking back.  And I remember the text that came from Lisa the following morning.

Staci, you rock, girl!  I’m so sorry I had to skip out early.  I wanna hang before I leave.

Yeah.  Maybe I do rock.  I didn’t fuck your boyfriend.  I hope you don’t either.  I felt sad and empty and disappointed for both of us.

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