Friendly Secrets

From P-O-Y:

This Week’s Topic : Friendly Secrets

“A friend is one who knows us, but loves us anyway.” ~ Jerome Cummings

A friend truly has seen us at our very best and worse. They have seen us at our silliest and at our ugliest….. They know all those little things about us that we don’t necessarily want people to know but, ohhh, the stories they could tell. What stories do you think your close friends would love to tell about you?

Oh gods, I cannot believe I am about to confess this. I mentioned in an earlier post that I was sort of at a loss as to what to write about here. Apparently I didn’t dig deep enough into my past, because I was reading some of the the submissions for this topic and was hit by a blinding flash of memory. “Faster Than Light,” you might say. And you might ask, “Is There Something I Should Know?”

Now the person I’m going to write about was my best friend in high school. I’m pretty sure she doesn’t read this journal and it’s a good thing, because what I’m about to share might not be something she wants me to share with the general public. Anyway, L. and I were Durannies. That, in and of itself may be a surprise to some of you who know me now. Oh yes, and I was going to marry Simon LeBon until that bitch Yasmin came into the picture. How can a 14 year old compete with a worldly model? But I digress. Anyway, I was completely absorbed by Simon and L. was all about John Taylor. To this day, if you ask me a random fact about Duran Duran (pre-Electric Barbarella, which is where my fandom pretty much ended), I can most likely spout it off, particularly if it has to do with Simon John Charles LeBon, who is 6’2 and was born on October 27, 1958 and was nicknamed Charlie.

Anyway, I’m sure I’m sharing all these details because I am avoiding the ugly story about how L. and I named our pillows Simon and John, respectively, and carried on passionate love affairs with them. Our pillows were smeared with lipstick and we slept with them at night, lengthwise, like bodies, and imagined what it would be like to have sex with them. No, that’s not entirely accurate. We pretended we WERE having sex with them, armed mostly with information from my ubiquitous romance novels. We spoke for them, wrote notes to each other from them, included them in any plans or conversations as if they really existed. And if something weird happened while we were sleeping, like, say, my shirt should come off in the middle of the night and I couldn’t remember having taken it off, then they must have done it. We even pretended they were somehow aware of us, that we were linked to them in our dreams.

On one particularly memorable occasion, we brought an old friend of L.’s into the fold. She was really into Nick, which was kind of weird to me. What was up with all that make-up, anyway? So we let her in on our secret and gave her a Nick pillow. We took turns having a go at our pillows on L.’s bed and S., the friend, was so vigorous in her attentions to the Nick pillow, she broke L.’s bedframe! We could hardly explain it to L.’s parents between the giggles, and I’m quite sure we edited the truth. I think we said she sat down too hard.

Those pillows lived with us for at least the three years between 12 and 15, and I think L. still has John somewhere. Simon moved on to sleeping with my little brother — what? you didn’t know he was bi? — and I moved on to sleeping with my husband, which is another secret L. kept for quite some time. In fact, there were many weekends that I supposedly spent with L. that were, in fact, spent with Jeff. Not that we were married then. I’m not that white trash.

So there you have it. I beat L. to it.

Oh god, my mom reads this. So does my husband and some of the teachers at the girls’ school. I will spend the next week wearing a burkha and a veil. Is that redundant? Does a burkha always have a veil? Anyway, cover myself from head-to-toe.

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