ALL SHOOK UP
four writers mull over a moment that
changed their perspective.
By
Mia
Timpano
I had an ex I stayed friends with
for many years after we broke up.
I called him “my prince”. I believed
our love existed beyond space and
time – because it really felt that
way. He nurtured me through
painful chapters of my life. He
described me as a “small, wounded
forest creature” and said it was his
“job” to “protect” me. Reflecting
on that now, all I can say is:
what the fuck.
At the time, it seemed like he was
giving me what I needed. These
days, I’m older, intolerant of
people who treat me like a non-
human invalid who originated
in a mystical enchanted woodland,
and am slightly confused as to
why I elevated this individual to
a royal status. Remaining ‘friends’
kept me locked in a strange world
with him – one in which we had
to call each other every day. I
claimed he was closer to me than
family. And I believed I could
not exist without his soothing
words and occasional hugs.
The friendship was like a drug that
gave me some good feelings, but
was simultaneously hollowing me
out and destroying my self-esteem.
We don’t chat anymore. I don’t
wish anything bad to happen to
him, I just know our friendship
wasn’t Dolly Parton-Kenny
Rogers “Islands in the Stream”
beautiful. Now. It’s taken me the
better part of a decade to get this.
And, as a result of my newfound
wisdom, I’ve told anyone who
will listen that you should never- ever – be friends with an ex.
So, when a recent ex – let’s call
him Henry – popped past my work,
I braced myself. I knew he’d be
coming in; I saw his name in our
Google calendar. Thinking it would
be best to pave the way to politely
avoiding each other, I dropped
him a line to let him know I’d be
around. He replied politely and
suggested it would be nice to catch
up over coffee. Would it be, though?
Wouldn’t it be awful? And fucked?
And cause us both to break out into
eczema? I accepted, nevertheless.Henry appeared next to my desk
looking radiant. Life had clearly
been going well for him since
our break-up – skin doesn’t lie.
So I told him, honestly, “You
look incredible.” He paid me a
compliment of some sort; I don’t
recall what exactly, because Henry
is constantly complimentary, so
it’s to be expected that he’ll say
something like, “You look likeAudrey Hepburn,” even if you’ve
just vomited in his lap. I’m not
saying he lies – I’m just saying he
sees beauty everywhere he goes.We arranged to catch up across
the street once I was done with
my task at hand. My heart
jackhammered for the first 10
minutes of our coffee consumption.
Then, as we began to discuss life, our
creative endeavours, our creative
frustrations, work, opportunities,
lack of opportunities, travel, I
found myself thinking, “Aren’t
you awesome?” Not awesome as in
want-to-be-with-you awesome,
but awesome as in all-round-
person-in-the-world awesome.We kept talking. He promised
to come to a show I was putting
on. He did. We spoke for a while
afterwards. We laughed about
silly things and discussed serious
things. He wrote to me to say that
I appeared “like a lantern lit from
within”. He is a friend. But it’s
radically different to being friends
with my other ex. Because everyone
is different, and every relationship
is different. You can’t take what
you learn about one person and
apply it to all of human society.
You need to be open to the possibility
that things will unfold completely
differently with a different
person. As it turns out, you can
be friends with an ex. I was
wrong. I’m glad I was wrong.writers’ piece