The Spoils of War

Break-ups are hard. At least, that’s what they say. You have to deal with not having that blanket of security- that person who reminded you why you were (sorry, are) so amazing, the feeling of your sentences being completed, that sensation that, no matter what you do, you’ll have someone by your side.

You know who break-ups are harder for? Your friends.

Yes, break-upper/upee: I speak to you.

You chased us around for weeks. You emotionally blackmailed and threatened your way into getting us to meet your new beau. When we finally, finally relented, you looked so relieved, we thought you were going to wet yourself. We had that one conversation. That one cup of coffee. We assured you that we loved him/her, and that we’re happy for you.

And you sighed with joy, satisfied, and took her by the hand and pranced off. We sat there, bought a packet of high-calorie chips, drank another cup of coffee, and read by ourselves. We were happy you were happy.

But let me tell you something about that meeting. We lied. We don’t think anyone’s good enough for you- and even if someone is, there’s no way we’d know that with one meeting. But, caring about you is a flip-sided coin. We understood that it’d make you happy- that lie. And it wouldn’t really affect us, right?

Wrong. We gave him/her another shot. And another. And bam! As it turns out, we liked them. The spouse (What? Marriage is just semantics.) was worth it! We met more often, and through you, we made a new friend. We started hanging out together, laughed at the same jokes, laughed at you. It was all going well. We were so proud of being SUCH a good friend to you, that we found a way to reap the benefits of our self-sacrificing affections.

And, as always, the iceberg peaked out from beneath the still waters. Your perfectly blissful, perfectly happy piece of heaven split in two. The Break-Up. You decided you were done with each other, didn’t even care enough to be friends. Or share friends. And we were stuck with one leg on each piece of heaven, and our privates uncomfortably exposed to the pollution from Earth below. (Took the metaphor too far, perhaps, but you understand.)

And suddenly, there was a choice. We had to schedule ice-cream with you one day, beers with him/her the next. Watch one movie with you, another with the Ex. Suddenly, we felt like we were cheating on both of you. And we had no plays left. All the lies had been told, all the discomfort had been shared, you had both cried on our shoulder, and we had comforted you both. What did we have left, but the truth? So we told you.

It was traumatic. You both widened your eyes, took deep breaths and said you understood. What’s worse, we knew you really did. And we knew you were both hurt. We just didn’t know how to make it better. We knew we couldn’t ask you to get back together just so we wouldn’t have to watch the same movie two separate times on alternate Sundays.

So we carried on the charade, continued playing the game, and somehow, we survived until you both moved on.

The alternate situation, of course, is that we'll magically end up being the reason you broke up. But that, perhaps another time.

But here’s what we hope you understand, you bloody idiots. Leave us out of your love lives. We’ll lie about our approval just as- if not more effectively if we have no idea who you’re dating. And we’re happier that way. Trust us. Everyone’s happier that day. Maybe we’ll meet him or her the day you guys get married. At least a divorce will take a while to come around. And you always need a character witness in court.

Now go on. Go live your life, you giant idiot. We’ll be fine as long as you’re happy. And sometimes, even if you're just alive.