An old friend.

He calls every now and then. Not on a daily basis like he used to but he calls. Whenever he finds out something interesting about an old common friend or receives another pathetic CIE result sheet, my number is the first he dials. I haven’t seen him in two years but I doubt he looks any different. He certainly doesn't sound any different and the topics that interest him haven’t changed in the slightest. I remember him being my best friend growing up. I recall discussing whether or not it was haram to lick a woman’s breasts, passing judgement on the couple who would make out in the school’s back shed and calling the teacher with a big bottom a whore. I remember ridiculing this boy who was slightly taller and thinner than us and giving him the nickname ‘Ostrich.’

I understood that I was being offensive but it seemed a small price to pay in order to be a member of his clique. I always feared not having friends. I worried that if I didn't have any friends, people would feel free to point out my idiosyncrasies and I would become the ridiculed ‘Ostrich.’ I feared everyone noticing exactly how terrible a cricket player I was, the way my arm gestures resembled those of a woman and more than anything, I feared people being able to somehow figure out that I was sexually attracted to men and not women. So I clung onto this clique of boys that I secretly hated because as long as I was one of them, I was safe.

Although I had the support of these supposed friends, I never quite enjoyed their company and felt as though they only saw the image I tried so very hard to portray. I wasn't able to talk as openly as I wished and I would behave in a manner that was different from my usual demeanour  I eventually drew the courage to venture out to make new friends and once I had, I saw no need of remaining part of this clique. He was, undoubtedly, the kindest of this group of boys. He participated in their ridiculous conundrums but one could always notice his reluctance in doing so. I remained in close contact with him and avoided every other member of the clique for this very reason.

Every time I talk to him, I'm reminded of just how far I've come. From the boy who acted like his friends did in order to avoid being ridiculed to the boy who feels completely comfortable in his own skin and quotes Mean Girls where appropriate. He’s still part of that group of friends. He still discusses whether or not it is haram to lick a woman’s breasts, he still judges the couple that makes out in his university’s back shed and still calls the teacher with the larger bottom a whore.

He called the other day and told me ‘People at my university are so stupid; this one kid said that Khyber Pakhsomething was a province.’ He wouldn't believe me when I told him that Khyber Pakhtoonkhwa was, in fact, a province and I didn't bother convincing him. I know I can never really connect with him but as long as he keeps calling, I will continue answering because it’s good to know that all those years ago, in the midst of great uncertainties, I made one good decision; the decision to run as far away from such frustrating stupidity. Maybe I can make another one now.