i could see the friendship breakup coming with my eyes closed
We walked down a long glass corridor, floor lined with a muted abstract carpet. Something textured, rough. We passed door after door on our left, on our right, before you stopped in front of one. You opened the door, let yourself in, held the door open behind you for me to step into the room. The room looked like every office conference room I’ve ever seen on TV. You didn’t sit at the long table, though. A more intimate seating area opened up as you advanced into the room. You sat down in one of the four cushioned chairs. I have something important to tell you. You motioned for me to sit.
• • •
I sat around a coffeeshop with other friends of yours, each of us drawing on our own big white sheet of paper. You made a TTRPG for us to play, and we were designing our characters. Mine was a sleeping dragon skeleton. I couldn’t figure out how to draw it without a reference picture.
• • •
Our band Pickle Wheckle, a fusion of garage rock and techno pop, was practicing for our next show after releasing our latest single. We wore robot costumes.
• • •
I moved to Austin, and my new neighbor died suddenly and of mysterious circumstances. You moved in next door.
• • •
You were the best man at my wedding.
• • •
You started balding.
• • •
You wanted to set me up on blind dates with your friends. I graciously accepted. Every date you set me up on was with a man.
• • •
We were sitting on my back porch. My back was to the trees, eye steady on the door. You really should try to be more like her.
• • •
You wrote and released a bunch of diss tracks about me.
• • •
We were away at a tennis tournament. My doubles partner and I were sharing a room. You, our coach, were staying in the next room over, through the connecting door. I came back to my room early to catch you sleeping with her. I saw you doing it, and you still claimed it didn’t happen when I confronted you the next day. For the rest of the tournament, you used lie after lie to turn my doubles partner against me. We lost. I went home alone.
• • •
I heard from a friend of a friend that you all hung out without me. Apparently you’ve been making new friends and phasing me out. Fine. But the new friends told me all the things you were too cowardly to tell me yourself.
• • •
A shooting broke out in the grocery store where we were shopping. We crouched down at the end of our aisle. I turned my head to say something to you, but I saw a child squatting there instead. He had a gun in his hand. I looked back up. You were running out the door into the parking lot. Your car flew over the speed bumps in front of the store as you made your getaway.
• • •
You died.
• • •
I couldn’t stop blowing my nose. Thick, yellow mucus shot out of me with undignified honking noises over and over.
• • •
Nick Jonas comforted me while I cried. He put his hand on my back, but I knew it was your hand. He and I were watching a movie—something about the early years of the band, and I was overwhelmed with nostalgia and pride. And grief for it all being over years ago. Tears streamed down my face in a thin, steady flow.
• • •
I saw my future with each new person I met as I walked down a main road in New York. This one person wanted to get to know me, wanted to be with me. I saw our future together. I knew we would have a long and happy relationship that would eventually end. Are we kind to each other in the end? Yes. I was crying then. I told them the next person they find after me will be the person they marry. It’s not me, I said. Are we happy? I nodded. That’s all we need to know then.
• • •
I got to see the ocean for the first time in seven years.
• • •
I haven’t seen you in a while.
Haley Osier is a writer and artist living in Nashville, Tennessee. Her work explores the concepts of family lost and found, the journey home to the self, and the marginalization of being a lesbian in the South. She is currently getting her MFA in Creative Writing at Belmont University, where she is also an adjunct professor.