Simon

I had this friend. We'll call him Simon. He was a good friend, my best, really, at the time. I was the receptionist at the company where he did web development, despite the fact that he was a Philosophy major. He went out every afternoon to buy himself a big cookie, and he'd buy me one too. He agreed to teach me how to play guitar in exchange for home-cooked meals. Every weekend, I lugged my guitar from the lower east side of Manhattan to Park Slope, Brooklyn. We'd go to the store, buy food and wine, and I'd cook. We'd invariably drink too much wine with dinner and watch movies in lieu of him teaching me guitar. He'd try to bribe me to watch The Matrix. I'd try to fix him up with my friends.

Then Simon met a girl and fell in love. And despite his best efforts and my best efforts, she didn't like me. And she didn't like our close friendship. And she gave him an "it's her or me" ultimatum. And he chose her.

I remember when he told me. It was over lunch, at the no-longer-there vegan joint Herban Kitchen in Tribeca. "She doesn't think our friendship is appropriate," he said. "I love her," he said. I blinked back tears. My best friend was dumping me. I never blamed him. I could tell it was hard on him, too.

That was about four years ago. Since then, I've had random, "I wonder what Simon is up to these days" moments. So I'd google him. Nothing. Nada. Today was different. Today I found him on MySpace. And I sent him a message. Now, I wait. To tell you the truth, I'm a little nervous.