August 21st is a big calendar day. It's the birth date of Joe
Strummer from the Clash. Kara called me at work to say that the strain of her father's death and memory was hindering her capacity to nurture a relationship. Well, maybe not in those exact words.
"Can we still be friends?"
"I'm sorry Kara, I can't do it. I'd have ulterior motive, you know that. That wouldn't be friendship as I don't see you that way."
"Please Greg."
In appearance, my response had the presence of selfishness and maybe negligence but it was a practiced policy of self preservation. The reality was I really liked Kara and I didn't want to be her friend. I liked the tenderness of an intimate relationship. In the event that you give a shit, my adoration for Kara is keenly evoked by lyrics from the song Sunshine Smile by Adorable, "
If I'm going to be someone else, I'd rather be somebody else with you". I always heard it as,
"If you're ever with someone else, I'd rather be somebody else with you". Either way, that's exactly how I felt.
The following succession of evenings were exhausted by ceaseless solicitations for friendship and indelible rejections. I repetitiously reminded Kara that we could not be friends. She was endearingly stubborn.
"Why can't we be friends? It's not fair" Kara quipped.
During a moment of transparency, Kara described feeling conflicted by emergent feelings of guilt and remorse, having dissolved a lengthy relationship last year under the weight of her father's death. She explained that spending time together had resurrected some forgotten and unresolved susceptibilities. This was not good for me.
"You don't understand how hard it was for me. I was very close to my dad. I rushed home after a frantic phone call from my mom and found my dad being taken out of the house in a body bag. Adrian was there for me."
I felt like an asshole for a second but Kara's disclosure had provoked an uninvited suspense. Frankly, I didn't have the dexterity to address it with imperturbability. That's why I needed space as well.
It's now August 29, Michael Jackson's birthday and I could give a shit. It's recognition is rendered solely because of my love for the Jackson 5 and particularly the song,
I want you back.Kara's emergent distress and confusion were tantamount to a concussion. Her repeated appeals for friendship had finally provoked pity. As compensation, I purchased carnations and drove to Kara's home. I envisaged leaving flowers at the doorstep. Yes, it was an encore performance.
Approaching Kara's house, I saw her car in the driveway which induced some apprehension. It further prompted the discontinuation of my errand. I wasn't ready to hang out just yet. What the hell was she doing home? I had fully expected her to be at work.
I turned around and headed back towards the bar. I contemplated tossing the flowers out the window. I told Kara that I couldn't be friends and meant it.
Unexpectedly, I was further apprehended by insuppressible compulsion as I drove past the graveyard where Kara's father was buried. I couldn't bring myself to throw out the flowers.
