When I used to think of best friends, I would think of someone who knew your order at McDonald's without having to ask and got you fries even when you said you didn't want anything because you share the idea that food is life. I would think of someone who has an arsenal of embarrassing pictures and saved Snapchats to release to the world on your birthday, and knows exactly what it takes for you to get over that piece of shit ex of yours. They would know your celebrity husband because you're both delusional, and be able to recite the exact shade and brand of your favorite lipstick like they did the Pledge of Allegiance in 3rd grade. But most importantly of all, they would know why Rihanna and Drake’s “Work” not only makes you dance like no one's watching in a room full of people giving mad side eye but also why it simultaneously makes you cry.


But what I don't think about when I think of best friends is someone who dates the man-child who took advantage of almost all the insecurities you had, thinking studying abroad in the beautiful Bologna, Italy for 4 months would heal, behind your back.


Well that about sums up the current relationship I have with my best and very first friend upon my arrival at college.


After studying abroad, I expected a lot of things to change upon my return and a lot of my relationships with people to do the same. But what I didn't expect from a hug and conversation with one of my truest friends was for it to go from one of excitement to anger and annoyance so quickly. At first, I thought it was me that I had somehow in the span of five minutes done something to royally piss him off. But with a simple sentence that felt like a slap in the face later, I realized that look and that tone were ones of sympathy and shared heartache for me and anger towards the girl I called my best friend.


While I was getting closer to coming home, she kept telling me that a lot of things around campus had changed. I assumed the privileged were still acting privileged - private college problems - or that she and her then ex/current/ex boyfriend had officially broken up and gone their separate ways. But instead, I got that “I'm actually liking it here and I have real friends” and “I'm happier than ever”. Being what seemed a world away to me and having been caught up in my own love bubble, I didn't think anything of what she said other than that she was happy which made me happy for her. I kept backpacking the world having crazy European sex with the man who struck my fancy my last two months abroad. Life was better than good, it was great.


Stepping on American soil and turning my phone off of airplane mode for the first time in four months, reality sunk in and the messages began to flood my phone asking me about this and that, whether I was coming to the senior party or not, have I talked to my supposed best friend or not lately. All which jet lagged me responded half comatose with a variation of “yeah”, “why?” and “c u soon 👅”.


Being back on campus was like stepping into the Twilight Zone. People I didn't know were hugging me and asking me about my trip. My sorority Big sister filled me in on all the juicy drama that happened around our small campus while I was gone with help from my former roommates. Everything seemed like a normal day in the neighborhood, until I got a call from a friend who wouldn't lie to me or shield my feelings from the truth, even if he knew how, asking to meet up before he headed home for the summer.


This was the conversation I mentioned earlier, and the moment my best friend went from that to the status of an overly informed stranger. Right after that, my phone rings and it's her asking me to come to her room before heading to the party. I was in disbelief and hurt, but I tried to stay calm and give her the benefit of the doubt because over these four months she must have forgotten that I'm crazy. Before I walk in the door, she says “Manchild is in here. Is that OK? He's really excited to see you.” I walk in to him lying on her bed and this growing feeling of anger in my chest. I just remember thinking, “How stupid does this bitch think I am?”


My mother raised a lady and taught me to hold my tongue, but my real, take no shit friends who live by the talented Erykah Badu’s tweet, “Look.. I choose peace but , say... Don't walk up on me wrong..This Tea and Incense can turn into Colt 45 and Newports if NEED be.. OK?”, taught me to stick up for myself and when to cut the fuck up. Based on my field notes, this was what they were training me for. But the person who won was the person I became in Italy. I hugged her probably for the last time in my life as I walked out of her dorm room with my jungle juice in one hand and pride in the other.


With that said if you're reading this ex-best friend/current overly informed stranger, I forgive you and wish you both the best. If you're happy, I'm happy, but you are sadly mistaken if you think I'm going to pick up the pieces without a lot of side eye and pursed lips. I'll either be there for you because being heartbroken sucks or I'll be there cheering the loudest for you at your wedding, but don't ever expect things to be the same, especially when it comes to trust.

My momma raised a lady on kindness and forgiveness, and my true friends made sure I never looked like a fool.