It sounds cold and evil that we, Marty’s best friend and his fiancée could, two weeks after his death get so high and flop into bed, then repeat the gesture when they had no excuse. But it wasn’t like that.
We had been so close, Marty, Julie, me….and I admit; I had always loved Julie.
I fell in love with her, first. I spoke to her first. I invited her to that dance we were having at the dorm. She came, Marty saw her. Julie didn’t see me any more. They hooked and I was wallpaper.
At first I thought, okay, I’ll get it on with Anita, I’ll go out with Barbie, but I loved Julie. She was the first, the only girl I ever loved.
Sure I could date, I could have sex, but when I looked at Julie, I wanted her. I never said a word to Marty. We didn’t share war stories. We had our activities, our lives, and were best friends.
When Julie and Marty moved in together, I had a permanent Monday dinner date. I’d bring the wine, she’d cook, and Marty would clean up. We shared so much of our lives. I spoke to her as I would to Marty. She spoke to me as if we’d known each other forever.
If he had married her, I’m sure our relationships would remain as they were. I’d probably find a girl who was compatible, who’d fit into their world, not just into mine.
Of course, I doubt such a girl existed, or existed in my ambit. Everyone I met was like; “Nope, can’t bring her to meet Julie on Monday.”
It was just like dating a girl you can’t bring home to mother. I couldn’t bring my dates ‘home’ to Julie.