Dear Redacted Break For the Week of March 18

As I continue to find my energy to focus on other projects, I find myself slipping from Dear Redacted – this project was an attempt to get me back on my productive feet, but now that I have my energy for at least film criticism again, I’m having to readjust my balance of time. I don’t want to simply throw something together to meet a self-imposed deadline, so I’m going to take a break from the project and hopefully return next week.

Friendship Removal Machine

Despite our falling out, I figured we’d at least have each other to watch through social media. We had grown apart, but there had to be something in at least being able to see where the other had ended up.

But I didn’t like what I saw. You appeared to join a fraternity in college, became the type of straight bro I’ve always dreaded. I tolerated it for a bit, but then it became clear you were falling into the right – perhaps even the far right.

That was a bit hard to take in – that someone who was once the closest friend I had likely resented the community I had found myself in. Really, you likely hated your voice growing up because of that resentment – or maybe the teasing drove you to that point.

I realized I was filling in the blanks in the worst way possible, but then I realized it didn’t matter. You weren’t the same person anymore. We both grew up apart from one another and found different lives, different circles.

I removed you from Facebook unceremoniously. I doubt you even noticed. Would you care at all if you did?

Yet there’s obviously that part of me that still thinks of you – but what’s it matter anymore? Am I just longing for the idea that you would have turned out differently? Or was this all too predictable considering your upper-class white childhood?

All these thoughts, they’re so pointless. If we were to meet again today as we are now, I’d feel nothing but discomfort.

The Silence

I didn’t think of you all that much until we happened to end up in gym together during high school. By that point, you had gone silent – for whatever reason, you refused to ever speak. It’s one of those odd mysteries, the type of thing that makes people strangely compelled. Of course, I knew the answer – you had a disarmingly high-pitched voice for a boy.

I didn’t think much of it then, your embarrassment. In fact, I found it kind of amusing. How oppressive masculinity is, that you literally went quiet to hide an apparently feminine flaw. More than likely, you were terrified people would hear you speak and assume you were gay.

I briefly reached out to you – we met at a Mexican restaurant along with our mothers and caught up. I questioned why we stopped hanging out, it seemed clear it was the silence. I had read into it, but you had gotten that way with everyone in your life. There had to be more, for you to never reach out – but I didn’t really care.

I had found other friends, ones who spoke to me in ways more than just literal. We could have started to hang out again – but that dinner, that was all I needed. I got the best answer I would get, I could move on from you. Every future encounter would be from a distance, morbid curiosity as I checked out your social media. Our friendship officially ended with what was supposed to be a reunion.

Violence, Violence

A few years had passed, and your family had moved to a bigger house with a large backyard. We must have been ten or eleven, just hanging in your room playing Yu-Gi-Oh or something. Your younger sister by about two years came in, pest that she was, more than likely to poke fun at you as she tended to do.

Siblings fight and it sometimes gets physical. I recall the time when I was six and my sister got pissed at me for walking too slow to the car – she grabbed my hand and dragged me along, causing me to trip and scrape my forehead against the concrete of our drive. The hilarious thing is how pointless it was – my mom hadn’t even stepped outside yet, so it’s not like my dawdling was delaying us.

The less fun part of that was my mother’s panic over my kindergarten teacher potentially reporting this as a sign of abuse. I thought this was an overreaction, but later learned she had been threatened with the idea of having us taken away after my father was arrested.

I’d seen you get a bit physical with your sister before – you were quick to anger. But usually it wasn’t much at all – or perhaps with how little I had encountered such things before, it didn’t seem like much. But this time, you knocked her to the floor and climbed on top, punching her in the face. I was terrified. This was actual, dangerous violence. I’m not even sure how the rest of that day played out, it’s all kind of a blur after that point.

This isn’t where our friendship ended, but I quietly grew afraid of you. Your sister was a nice girl, she didn’t deserve that. No one did. We drifted apart – I used to think it was because you literally grew silent, but this is the real reason. The new friends I was making as time went on, they weren’t violent like you.

I hope you grew out of this.

Lonely Boy

I was happy to be invited to your birthday party – I didn’t have many friends, so it was a bit of a new experience to me. My mom made sure we got you a nice gift, though I can’t remember what it was. I’m sure we were happy as always to just spend time together.

After you opened your gifts, your mother handed me a gift bag. It wasn’t my party, I didn’t understand. Inside was a copy of Pokemon Red – and despite my memory lacking in this regard, I’m certain this was a bigger gift than what I had got you.

I was happy to have it, but I remember leaving with this strange mix of confusion and guilt. My mom seemed comparatively confused. I think they were thanking me for being there. Because despite having few friends myself, I think you might have only had me. Just me.

Every time I look back on us, I have this similar feeling. I don’t understand you, how we split apart so distinctly from one another. It’s almost nauseating to look back on someone you were once so close to and realize there’s nothing there – certainly not a desire to reconnect. I’ve gone through several friendships that didn’t work out, but I guess the first stings the most – or maybe it hurts so bad because you’re one of the few things I’ve hung on to from those desolate early years.

Best Friend

I can’t remember the specific moment we met, though it was certainly in grade school. Were we ever in the same class, or did we simply get to know each other because we both were stuck in the same after-school program since our parents worked late?

Many of my fondest memories of my early childhood were with you. Our mothers turned out to be childhood friends, which might have made it easier for them to let us stay over. We played Pokemon together, fantasizing about making our own adventures using the system. Rollercoaster Tycoon was a shared hobby, and I remember one night where we stayed up late watching a bunch of Power Rangers episodes on VHS.

It was an innocent time – though we were naturally mischievous. I remembered learning a new word one day, one I didn’t know the meaning of but through context knew it had to be bad. Of course I shared one day, when we were standing in line for some reason or other. “Masturbation.” You repeated it, and then said it again. You could tell it was bothering me as we neared the adults at the front of the line. You knew to stop before they were in earshot – and I learned to keep the bad words to myself.

Back then, I couldn’t imagine anything better.

Future Frontiers

Perhaps I glorify this club too much. Perhaps it isn’t really the club at all that matters, but the people it brought together at a specific time and a specific place.

The structure was always quite odd – board games, television, movies. It’s the remnant of a group of friends who wanted to hang out and simply threw together whatever would keep them engaged from 5 in the afternoon to whenever everyone felt like leaving, on the best nights not until the next morning.

There was something undeniably organic about the nature of Techfront, and inviting new people is kind of like telling an in joke to an outsider. Anytime it’s brought up on Quad Day, the same questions are repeated. Why Techfront? Why all these things mashed together? How is this queer? Everything here makes sense to us, but did we fall into a hole so niche that it only appeals to us?

Yet it still remains. Perhaps it’s smaller than I would like, but a new group has formed. This does matter to some people; they show up every week just like we used to do.

So even if Techfront eventually dies off, we’ll always have the memories. Those oddball foreign films I inflicted upon you all, Arkham Horror all-nighters, passionate discussions about Chelsea Manning. Techfront bent to whatever the current members needed it to be, and god, I really needed all of you. Your consistent Saturday night presence was a lifesaver during my hectic experience known as college.