Pulling My Punches
American by birth, Aussie by choice, my husband Andrew’s best mate, he became my friend too. When he returned to the States for some years, he‘d phone Andrew late in our night: long, philosophical discussions so fascinating that I’d join in. We could hardly bear to hang up, despite the hour.
He came back and went the rounds, catching up with old friends before settling in Queensland – staying a bit longer with us, due to a sudden heart attack! After the operation, he came back to us to convalesce.
Something came on the news about some U.S. TV announcer. It meant nothing to us. He, more aware, growled scornfully, ‘She’d be a left-leaning liberal!’ – like that was a BAD thing.
‘Hang on,' I thought. 'That's what I am.’ So was Andrew. But we were both shocked speechless. The moment passed; he was oblivious.
After Andrew died, this friend phoned every few weeks to check on me – the only one who did. It helped.
We still had wonderful, long conversations about all sorts of topics.
Eight years later, this still happens; now every few months. We sign off with, 'I love you.' It’s always been perfectly platonic, no spark, but we enjoy the talks. He’s a mate in the Aussie sense: we’d have each other’s backs.
Spiritually we usually agree. He’s New Age mystical, I’m Pagan; near enough.
He still takes an interest in America. Lately his political utterances bring me up short. I’ve argued a couple, gently. We’ve met in the middle … outwardly, but not really altering each other’s views. Often I’m reduced to non-committal murmurs rather than take issue with such a friend. Yet, how real the friendship if I don’t tell my truth?
Most recently, he declared Coronavirus fake, designed to put us all into fear and force us to accept vaccination. He called the Premier of Victoria – whose stringent measures have kept that State relatively safe – Despot Dan.
‘You know who I’m talking about?’
‘Oh yes, I know who you mean.’
I didn’t add that in my opinion Dan's a hero.
Yes, I’m a coward. I expect I’ll have to have it out some day. I keep hoping the contentious issues will all blow over first.
369 words written in response to Weekly Scribblings #56: Hit Me With Your Best Shot, at Poets and Storytellers United.
(And no, the friend concerned never reads my blog.)
