I Am Not His Girlfriend.

It happened again...

someone accused me of being your girlfriend.

After witnessing several weeks in the on-going saga of our ambiguous friendship, this well-meaning gentleman, casually plopped himself down beside me at the bar and innocently inquired "So, are you [his] girlfriend?"

I understand that this is not an entirely unwarranted question, mostly because I've heard it hundreds of times in the last seven years, but I still haven't gotten fully used to hearing it or very good at answering it without coming off like a complete bitch.

To add insult to injury, this question almost always comes inevitably posed at just the moment in the night when I've allowed myself to chill and forgive you again for not being my boyfriend; when I've become complacent within the dynamic of the room and I've come to peace with my own perceived lackings. It is in exactly that moment that someone points to the corner of the room and says, "Hey, isn't that your boyfriend making out with some girl?" or "Did you guys move here to be together?" or "How long have you guys been together?" or "Aren't you dating him?"

Inside the irony is enough to snap my brain back into crushing reality, set all my armhairs straight up and knock 90% of the wind out of me, but on the outside I scoff at the thought of being implicated in some sort of committed, romantic involvement with you. While my actual reactions have varied in verbiage, the theme has been consistent: "Ew, that LOSER? He is NOT my boyfriend, he will NEVER be my boyfriend, I would NEVER stoop so low as to date him."

I'm sorry about that. I hate having to be so mean, but the overriding forces of my ego insist that I make it known that I am the one rejecting you and not vice versa.

But on this night, my bitter side had begun to sweeten as I stood there swaying fondly to the music, in the empty room with a very full glass of wine. I felt special, sentimental and supportive as the only girl who came out in the cold to see the show, so when he asked "So, are you [his] girlfriend?" it somehow felt less like a confrontation or an accusation, because it seemed like he honestly hoped it was so. My intoxicated, inflated self-esteem welcomed his query as it was received with a tone that conveyed what a great catch he thought I was and how lucky you would be to to call me your own. My eyes closed softly for a prolonged blink and I let out a sigh that ended in an affectionate smile as I turned to look him in the eyes and give him an answer.

Maybe it was because you weren't within earshot of the question, but I didn't feel the need to denounce you so violently in my answer. Or maybe because he asked with such earnest, I somehow wasn't immediately compelled to repel the whole concept so quickly. Or maybe, god forbid, I'm growing up a bit, moving on some and a little less concerned about what people think, but my reply escaped my lips without the crutch of cruel, defensive jabs.

"No, we're just good friends," I said, "We've known each other a really long time, but it's never been like that."

The words came bobbling out as if I had never thought any differently, as if that was the only way things had ever really been and the only way they ever could be.

And lately, I can't help but think that maybe that is the way it should be and the way it always should have been; a simpler version of us, just you and me, just friends.