My Best Friend Provoked Me Until I’d Had Enough

This story begins long before the afternoon that really matters, so let me set the scene for you. A few years ago I finished my studies and started working in a small workshop, almost an hour from my parents’ house. It was the push I needed to go after something I’d wanted for a while: my own key, my own place, a kind of independence that took me a long time to get but finally arrived one autumn, out of nowhere.

The first thing I did with that freedom was celebrate it. I called an old acquaintance who lived near my new neighborhood and we made plans to go out. That night she introduced me to her group, people who would end up becoming important to me. From that first outing came friendships I still keep, and one in particular that marked me more than I would have liked to admit back then.

I remember that night as if it were yesterday. We went from bar to bar, a drink here, a shot there, another beer later on, until we got to a place where, according to them, one friend I still didn’t know had yet to show up.

And what a surprise I got.

There was Carla, dancing in the middle of a circle of friends as if the rest of the place didn’t exist. She was tiny, with shameless, provocative movements, and she danced by dropping almost all the way down until she nearly brushed the floor. She had dyed her hair a fiery red that season, which suited her wildness, a pretty face, and a way of looking at you that went straight for the challenge. She wasn’t a magazine beauty, she had her quirks, but there was something in her attitude that hooked you more than any perfect feature ever could.

The night passed without much else to report. Lots of new people, shouted conversations over the music, and very little to remember the next day. But the following weekends gradually wove together what at first was curiosity and ended up becoming a real friendship. With Carla, especially. We ended up inseparable, for better and for worse.

And here comes the uncomfortable part. All that time, I tried. Many nights, many clumsy gestures, many approaches that always ran into the same wall.

—No —she’d say—, you’re my friend and we’re going to ruin it.

She wasn’t entirely wrong. The friendship did end up ruined, yes, though for reasons neither of us saw coming.

***

When that weird year came along that locked us all inside for months, what we had started to crack. I lived alone. She lived with her mother, who was in delicate health, so we decided to try spending the lockdown together. After all, it was only going to be a couple of weeks, or so we thought. Those two weeks turned into two months.

And living together was a disaster. Too many frictions, too little space, and two personalities that clashed at the slightest thing. We ended up farther apart than we had ever been. And no, before you think it, the friction wasn’t the kind that would probably have improved the atmosphere. I wish it had been that kind.

The lockdown left me without work and, without any income, I had no choice but to go back to my parents’ house with my tail between my legs. Over time I found another job, met a coworker, and started a relationship with her. And my friendship with Carla, which had once been seeing each other every weekend, became a few stray hours one random day a month, if I was lucky.

It was on one of those forced meetups that what I really want to tell you happened.

Because no matter how often we got together and tried to get the good vibes back, it just wasn’t the same anymore. And Carla has a temper. Too much of one. And when she wants to, she knows how to keep poking until she drains every last bit of your patience.

—You’re not the same as you used to be —she’d say.

—Since you got a girlfriend, you don’t even suggest making plans —she’d finish.

And a long etcetera of comments that would get under anyone’s skin eventually. I was always the type to put up with things, swallow my anger, and keep a good face on. But everyone has a limit, and I found mine one afternoon in August.

***

We were at her apartment. She lives near the coast, and from her balcony you can see the sea and the communal pool, so the afternoon had promise. We had a couple of cold beers, the sun was falling softly over the railing, and we were talking about nonsense, the kind of conversation that leads nowhere but is still fun.

Until she started. Again with the hints, again pressing where she knew it hurt. I tried to dodge it, change the subject, laugh it off. No luck. She kept at it, one after another, until something inside me snapped and it came straight from my gut:

—Woman, suck my dick and quit fucking with me, because we were having a fucking great afternoon.

The words hung there between us. Carla wasn’t used to me talking back to her like that. With me, she had always been the one in charge, the one with the last word, and seeing me stand up to her caught her completely off guard.

—What did you just say? —she snapped, lifting her chin.

—You heard me. Annoying bitch.

—Say that again if you’ve got the balls!

—Fine. Suck my balls and shut your mouth already, because when you want to start shit, you’re brilliant at it.

—You’ve suddenly gotten very brave —she said, and that crooked smile she wore when she wanted to provoke showed up on her face—. Why don’t you shut me up yourself? Why don’t you make me? You talk a lot, but when it comes down to it, you do nothing.

That hit my pride.

—What was that?

—You heard me. You act tough, but you’re all talk. All bark and no bite.

I don’t know what went through my head. For years I had been the obedient one, the patient one, the friend who put up with everything, and suddenly that line pulled on some thread I hadn’t even known was there. I sprang up from the lounge chair like a coil. I didn’t think for even a second. In a matter of tenths of a second my swim trunks were around my ankles and I looked her straight in the eye.

—What? Do you have the balls or not?

Carla fell silent. Her mouth half open, her eyes fixed where she hadn’t expected to be looking that afternoon, completely frozen. It was the first time in all those years I’d seen her without a ready answer, without a prepared jab. And I’ll admit I enjoyed that silence more than I should have.

—Looks like I finally got you to shut up —I said, half laughing.

And then, I don’t know where it came from, but I got the urge to take advantage of the moment.

—I shut you up, and I’m going to keep you quiet a little longer.

***

I put my hand on the back of her neck, firmly but not roughly, and pulled her toward me. It took her a couple of seconds to react, long enough for me to think she’d shove me away and tell me to get lost. But she didn’t. On the contrary.

What happened next threw me off as much as the trunks around my ankles had thrown her. Not only did she not pull away, she seemed to get into it. She started slowly, almost teasingly, with a smile that was no longer challenging but something else. As if all that tension built up over years, all the barbs and clashes, had finally found an outlet.

I let go of her head after a little while. There was no need to guide her. She kept going on her own, at her own pace, without me having to indicate a thing. And I just stood there, the sun hitting my back and the pool murmuring in the background, trying to understand how we had ended up here after spending so long circling around it.

What a waste of time, I thought. And all it took was standing my ground once.

When it was over, a strange silence settled between us. She didn’t really know what to say, and neither did I. So I did the only thing I could think of: I went back to my lounge chair, sat down calmly in the sun, and took a long sip of beer, which had already gone warm halfway.

—Looks like it’s turning into a good afternoon —I said, looking toward the horizon.

—Yeah —she answered, her voice a little broken.

And we kept talking as if nothing had happened. About nonsense, about the pool, about the people who had introduced us years ago. Like two ordinary friends enjoying an August afternoon. But we both knew something had shifted, that a boundary that had stayed intact for years had finally broken.

The truth is, it did happen. And it wasn’t the only time. That afternoon opened a door neither of us ever quite closed again, and over time there was more, much more, until I got to know other silences of Carla’s that had nothing to do with her words.

But that, believe me, is another story for another day.