Friends

During the mayhem a chum came up to me and very quietly mentioned someone in the room.

'He's got cancer,' she said, 'secondary. Got to have a major operation. If he doesn't, he's got six months to two years...I reckon he's going to mention it to you soon,but he doesn't want people generally knowing about it, asking after him and the like, so keep it quiet.'

I nodded and kept my dismay far from my face. I don't know him well but what I know I like. He's a shrewd perceptive ally, a canny man, a big shot in town, clever with money but also forward looking and thoughtful.

And we carried on and we carried on.

At the end of the night, he came up to me by way of goodbye. 'You did well,' he said, and then a pause, his eyes moving towards mine for a moment then away. 'Take care of yourself,' he added.

I instantly realised; he knows about me.

And at the same time I answered, with what I hoped was warm but utter casualness, 'And you too, thank you for coming.'

I understood in that same instant how I wanted to put my arms around him, not necessarily to touch him. I have noted before that when I am incandescantly angry, the feeling goes beyond my skin, like an aura permeating the air. But anger's not the only feeling that pours out of me like that.

But I say nothing and he says nothing, and I try to work out what we are trying to spare each other. Humans! Are we honestly so proud, our massive spiritual gonads rolling across a landscape trying not to crash into each other? Are we immense? Are we subtle? Are we maybe just a bit ridiculous?

I don't know. I get how this works, I think, but I don't know what it is. I only know that he knows about me, I know about him, and at least one of us knows that the other knows. We're turning into one of those episodes of Friends.

We're also, I suspect, almost, nearly friends without italics.