I Was Ghosted by a Best Friend
When someone walks away without a word, you fill in the blanks.
Back in middle and high school I had two really good friends, and the three of us spent a lot — I mean A LOT — of time together. Mark and Kristi and I were inseparable. We were the Three Amigos.
Most weekends we were at Mark’s house because he had a big house, super nice parents, and a pool. We were friends with his sisters and his parents too, and Kristi and I were treated like family. His folks got me through some tough times.
Their pool was an above-ground one, but their split-level ranch home had a deck off the back, which led to another deck that encircled the pool. It was awesome. We spent a lot of time there, playing pool volleyball, and dive bombing. Most Saturday nights we would be over there playing games late into the night.
Neither Mark nor I ever dated Kristi. It wasn’t like that. She was cute, but she felt more like a sister, and it would’ve been weird. At least for me. I think Mark may have felt differently, deep down.
At the time, I didn’t know I was gay.
Okay, maybe a part of me knew I was very curious about some things, but I definitely was attracted to girls, a topic Mark and I talked about often. And like many teenage boys, all we could think about was getting laid for the first time. At one point, this became a big subject for us, as well as a bit of a competition. If I’m being honest, I think he technically won that race, but I did have a pretty good (but not well thought out) completely made-up story that gave me the title before him. He was impressed.
Why did I make up a tale? I’m not sure. Probably because I was insecure. Maybe I was so desperate to be one of the cool guys. It was certainly in part to give me an advantage over my best friend. But I was a fraud. And I’m not proud of it. He still doesn’t know this.
Whatever the circumstances, in the big scheme of things, we were (eventually) two typical, heterosexual, teenage boys, with raging hormones, and having sex with our girlfriends. At least when we graduated high school, going off in different directions, that was who we were.
After high school, we went on different paths. He went to one school and I another, and Kristi joined the Air Force. We reconnected the following summer, and I recall distinctly being back in that swimming pool one night, playing volleyball. It was just the three of us, and Kristi revealed to us she was pregnant, and was getting married.
Mark and I were stunned. We were saddened. We were both concerned that Kristi was “throwing her life away” or something along the lines of the things parents warned us kids about ending up preggers. We didn’t think this could end well. (It has.) All three of us grew up devout Catholics, and our family saw each other week at church. Premarital sex was one thing, but there’s something called the rhythm method!
Hey. It works. It’s just not, you know, reliable.
Mark, in particular, was very upset. He started crying, got out of the pool, and went inside. He was angry at her, and for a short while couldn’t or wouldn’t even talk to her.
Another year went by, and Kristi was happily married, with a baby (who is my Godson), and was living on a military base far away. Mark and I were back at our respective schools, but he wasn’t really cut out for college life. He wasn’t finding his way there, so he dropped out and also joined the Air Force.
Just like that, the Three Amigos were history. Living very separate lives.
This is all pre-internet, pre-social media, so there was no real good way to stay in touch, other than via phone calls or emails. It’s just the way we Gen-Xers grew up. You moved apart and went through your 20s, and maybe your 30s, and you made your lives (with few photos to show for it). There were occasional messages, but not much.
Some people discover during college (or, if you’re a denying late bloomer like me, shortly after) something deep down about who they are. They discover they’re someone high school friends wouldn’t recognize. Someone who happens to be gay.
Jump forward twenty years, well past my coming out to family and friends’ moments, and when I had been in a long-term, committed relationship for over 15 years. I had moved away from home but was still in the Midwest, and living in a solidly blue state.
My partner (today my husband) and I took a trip to the southwest for a family wedding, which was also where Mark, his wife and kids, and his entire family lived. I hadn’t seen them in person in years, and we were able to have a quick lunch reunion, where they all met my partner. Everyone looked great, everyone smiled, and we all said, “This has been wonderful! We’ll do it again!”
Soon thereafter, the internet brought us Facebook. Like most of us who joined in the early years, I reconnected with lots of people on that site — distant family, college pals, my ex-girlfriend that I thought I would’ve been married to by then (dodged that bullet!), and, naturally, my two best friends from high school.
Kristi was still married to the same guy and with two nearly grown boys. But unlike Mark, we hadn’t seen each other.
There wasn’t any kind of, “Hey there! Guess what? I turned out to be gay” kind of message. There wasn’t a need. My profile page said I was in a relationship, and there was a link to his profile. There were pictures of us together, at our home, with our dog. As soon as a friend connection was made with anyone, I was out to them. Even for Mark, if there had been any question about the relationship with my plus-one attending the family wedding, this cleared it up.
Our online interactions were rather minimal. Occasionally there was a “Like” on something or a comment, but not a lot. This was during the Obama years, and I was outspokenly liberal. I had little tolerance for conservatives, Republicans, or anyone who was anti-gay, racist, etc. I had more than one public showdown online and wasn’t apologetic about it.
(I’m not saying this is good. It wasn’t. And I have more tolerance and different tactics these days.)
Mark was quiet to all of it.
Then came the marriage equality campaigns of 2012 and I was all in.
I live in Minneapolis, in one of the bluest congressional districts in the country. My state not only became the first state for voters to defeat the constitutional amendment that would’ve banned gay marriage, but we turned around and passed legislation six months later to legalize gay marriage!
After 21 years, we finally married in the first month we could do it.
Like many, I posted a pic of the signed marriage license and our hands with wedding bands on that random weekday we were married in our backyard, and my Facebook feed exploded.
Kristi gave me a thumbs-up. Mark was still silent.
Okay, so he’s not online much. Whatever, I thought.
Later, I realize, Mark has ghosted me.
One day I went looking for him on Facebook, and he wasn’t there. We were no longer friends, and, in fact, he no longer seemed to have an account. His sisters and his mother were there, but not him.
I figured he’d dropped Facebook, like others I’d known. It had become rather political and divisive, so some people had dropped out.
But then one day I saw something on one of Kristi’s posts, where there were numerous comments, and one of hers in a thread of responses said “Mark, blah blah blah….”
He’s not tagged, she just wrote his name. And since his comment wasn’t appearing for me, her reply didn’t make any sense.
He’s not gone. He’s blocked me.
It was confirmed by finding him up through someone else’s account.
I tried sending him a message, but of course, I couldn’t. I even found other accounts with similar names, and thinking he’d created a new profile or something, I sent a couple of messages, but they’ve never been accepted. I emailed him, but I’ve never received a response.
My mind went back to high school, and our competition, our bonding over our youthful maleness and bravado. I thought about his path after high school — military career, marrying and having a couple of kids, retiring from the military, and moving to a red state, where he’s into many kinds of sports, most of which I’ve never had an interest in.
And my path? I work in the arts. I work in theatre. I moved to a very blue state, and frankly a rather blue bubble. I advocated for gay rights and marriage equality and publicly fought with my racist, homophobic, extended family members on social media. (Believe me when I say they deserved the challenges.)
We were nothing alike.
I figured that he either thinks a) I’m a fraud because I’m not what I was when we were 17, or b) he doesn’t like me because I’m loud and opinionated, or c) he doesn’t like the gays.
I decided I’m going with option B because option C hurts too much.
After finding myself for who I am, creating a full life, surrounded by family and friends who support and love me, and feeling happy about where I was at, to have found my best friend again and reconnect, felt like a real gift.
But that reconnection was so short-lived. My best friend abandoned me, and I can only think that it has to do with my sexuality.
I let that hurt for a while. I let it hurt for longer than I should’ve really.
Today, not so much. Although, I admit there’s still a nagging question of “why” truly unanswered out there.
Once upon a time, I had a really good buddy, my best friend. We got each other through things, we had fun together, and we daydreamed together, through some important and formative years.
We were like family.
I’ll be grateful for that, and let the rest go. My life is full.
