Function of a Friend

Function of a Friend


Oh, I've heard many fine things said about that association known as friendship. 'Friends will be there to the end.' 'Friendship is the concrete that holds the world together.' 'Where you find true friendship, you find true love.' Ralph Emerson even said,


The glory of friendship is not the outstretched hand,
Nor the kindly smile nor the joy of companionship;
It is the spiritual inspiration that comes to one,
When they discover that someone else believes in them
And is willing to trust them.


If that's the case, if Emerson's beautiful words are true, then I guess Dominic and I weren't friends at all. But what were we then? We spent many years of our childhood together. We played together, we ran away from girls together and then, when we got a bit older, we chased girls together. We were friends all right, as anyone would tell you who knew us. "Samson?" they would say. "He's the one who hangs around with that Dominic boy, ain't he?" We were friends, best friends even. So the only way to explain what happened between me and my friend Dominic, the only way to explain the cruelty and nastiness that came between us, is to say that those poems and words about friendship I just told you are all a heap of dog shit, and that the real definition of friendship is something far more disconcerting.

Like those people would say, I hung out with Dominic pretty much all the time. We lived in a small neighbourhood, and our class at school didn't have many boys. He was thirteen when this happened, and I was a few months behind him. We'd always play basketball, or football, depending on the time of year, with the few other boys in the class, and we'd always be on the same team. Every now and then someone would say, let's make Samson and Dominic the team captains, and everyone would laugh, knowing we wouldn't be separated. We'd grown up together, you see, running around in the same backyard as little kids.

Out of the blue, as we were in our last year of primary school, I walked up to join Dominic in the playground, where he was standing with the other kids. We were forming up to make teams, and when I automatically moved to go in Dominic's team he said, "Let the other team have him. We don't want him." He looked right at me as he said it. Everyone was silent for a full minute, and these are noisy eleven and twelve year-old boys I'm talking about here. I was silent for the whole game, keeping to the edge of the grass so no one would see my eyes.

I kept away from Dominic for the rest of the day, and went home and sat on my bed, and before I'd been home ten minutes the phone rang, and it was Dominic, asking why I hadn't gotten to his house yet, was I sick or something (I always went straight to his place after school). And I ran over there, beaming like an idiot, and we mucked around together as if nothing had happened. And then the next day at school he'd be fine, too. A few weeks later, I went to his house, as usual.

"Oh for God's sake," Dominic said. "Don't you know I'm sick of putting up with you all the time? Why don't you go and get some other friends. I suppose you can't. Well, what do you want to do then?" So we kicked the football to each other in silence, me wanting to go, him obviously wanting me to go, kicking the ball harder and harder, until finally I left after twenty infinite minutes, once again almost in tears.

Friends. We were definitely friends, so why did this happen, on and off, for over a year? I continued to put up with it, as he became meaner and meaner. He also became more and more friendly in the periods in between, telling me I was his best friend, planning our futures with me, talking about trips we'd go on and jobs we'd have and cars that we would buy.

As I said, we were thirteen and twelve-and-two-thirds when it happened. I suppose it was triggered off by a girl, although not in the way you might think. Her name was Jemma, and she was in my Design in Metal class, which was on right after lunch. I came to this class on this day with grazes on my hands. Dominic had knocked me over on the outside basketball court. I was a few minutes late to class since I had to let the secretary put stinging antiseptic on my palms. By the time I got there everyone had heard what had happened. Many of them laughed as I walked in, and someone said "Frigging pansy," just quiet enough to escape the teacher's hearing. Jemma was in the class with me, and although we weren't really on close terms, she came up and talked to me, exercising some maternal instinct to help pathetic little creatures in need.

Predictably, she said, "You can't let him push you around like this, Samson."

"He just bumped into me," I said. "We were playing basketball."

"Look," she said in a low voice, "there's no way he'd stick up for you. You should hear some of the things he says behind your back." Jemma seemed to be delivering some righteous blow as she said this, to be taking pleasure in it. It was the reason she had felt compelled to talk to me, of course. Not to help, but to inflict her own pain, probably not even realising it herself. "He says you've never been with a girl, and that you cry whenever anyone says anything bad to you, and that you wet yourself when you were eleven." I couldn't deny any of it, especially the crying, since I was about to do it again right then. I turned away from her and started cutting some plastic with a hacksaw.

"Just remember," she said, as if she was giving up on a long-time ally but had to offer one last piece of advice, "he wouldn't stick up for you," and she walked away.

I had no doubt that Jemma didn't really give a lark's fart about me. I knew that she'd liked Dominic since he started high school, but that he'd told her friends she was too fat for him (actually he said if he went out with her he'd have to grease the front door to get her into his house). However, her words stayed with me. I think what finally pushed me was the fact that he'd been saying things about me. All the stuff he did to my face, I'd had time to get over, but this was like a year's worth of insult, all packed into one day. So I decided I would stop being a victim, cease allowing Dominic to push me around. Next time he rang up or talked to me, I'd say, "Sorry, I'm busy." Then I thought that (a) that was completely lame, and (b) he'd still probably talk me around to forgetting everything and going back to the same ol' grind. I needed to be proactive, to do something.

I spent the rest of the day devising a strategy, smiling to myself whenever anyone looked at me. They thought I was a pushover, but they'd soon see what happened when you insulted Samson. I went home, gathering up my tools of revenge and putting them into my backpack, wrapping some of the messier items in a plastic bag.

"What are you doing with all that flour," my mother said as I took a bag of the stuff out of the pantry. I had no idea she was even home.

"I need it for home economics tomorrow," I said.

"A whole bag?" she said. "What are you doing, cooking for the entire school?"

"I'll probably bring most of it back, who knows?"

"Well look, instead of taking that bag, I'll buy you some tomorrow morning before you catch the bus."

"No, that's all right," I said, trying to move past her out of the kitchen.

"Why do you want that opened bag, it'll spill everywhere."

"I'll be careful, okay?"

"But I said I'd get you a brand new bag, you're just going to make a mess."

"Don't worry about it, I don't want your help." I pushed past and ran into my room. I had not gotten everything I wanted, but it would have to do. Mum was ranting at the microwave as I hitched my gear over my shoulder and ran out of the house. I trod the familiar path to Dominic's house, the path I had taken time without number before. The house looked out onto the street, and anyone approaching would be seen from several meters away, so with a few blocks to go, I went down a little dirt path that lead onto a worn bike trail, and walked along that. It soon ended in a patch of trees, and as I walked through them I lost sight of the houses. By the time I emerged again, the bag was weighing down on me and I wasn't sure how far I'd come. The fences were all over six feet high, and with the trees behind me it was impossible to get a view of the houses. I jumped, grabbing the top of the wooden fence and heaving myself up. I was about to fall back to the muddy ground, so I had to swing my knee up, hooking a foot over the other side and managing to follow the rest of it over, collapsing on the grass on the other side.

I had gone too far, crossing over into the house of Dominic's neighbour. I had sparse time to get my bearings, however, when a little terrier pelted across the yard, straight towards me. I ran for the fence separating that yard from the one I wanted to be in. Luckily, this fence was a fair bit shorter, and I vaulted over like a gymnast or an acrobat, then crouched down, gasping for breath while the dog yipped and barked. I'd torn my trousers, which I knew Mum would give me hell for, and my foot felt like it had been twisted a little, but after a few minutes it was safe to say that no one except the dog, who had stopped barking, knew I was there. I could continue.

I crept around from window to window, the floor plan of the house known by heart, seeing who was where. Dominic's parents were in the lounge room, his younger sister was sitting in the kitchen eating while she read a magazine, and Dominic was in the hallway with the telephone, probably trying to ring me up. In my mind, I told him that I was already there.

There was a sound of a car coming into the driveway, the driveway that ended right next to me, crouching beside the gutter pipe. I sprinted across the grass, keeping low, and disappeared behind the wood heap just as the engine cut off and doors began opening. Peeking out, I was not really surprised to see Dominic's uncle and aunty, who visited almost as often as I did. In my excitement, I hadn't thought to plan around the possibility of their showing up. Disappointed, but also glad in a cowardly way that I wouldn't have to go through with my ideas, I heard the aunty saying "Knock, knock!" as the couple let themselves straight in through the back door. I didn't know much about those two, except that they didn't have any kids of their own, because there was something wrong with them. I hadn't really talked to them very much, even though we were often at the house at the same time. Dominic never wanted to talk to them when I was there, and he definitely didn't talk about them to me.

I considered going up and announcing my presence, my rebellious spirit fading fast. But I had the problem of the backpack. Dominic was always full of questions, and he'd want to have a look inside, and then he would want to know what I was doing with all that stuff. I'm not good at improvisation, and I knew I wouldn't be able to come up with good answers. I could have left it in the wood heap, but I wouldn't have been able to go back for it until later, and I would have to go through the whole process of sneaking up again to get it. I decided the easiest thing to do would be to go home. I was about to move out from my hiding place, when Dominic went into the bedroom, which had a clear view of the yard. He turned on the light, but his uncle, who came in behind him, turned it right back off, closing the door and, moving up to the curtains, he closed them too.

Curious, I crept up to the bedroom window, walking slowly and softly. There was a thin gap where the curtains didn't quite cover the glass, and although it was hard to see anything in the fading light of winter at half past four, I strained my eyes, and I saw enough. "Jesus, you're growing up fast," Dominic's uncle said.

I don't think I drew breath the entire time I stood there, clutching at my backpack until my fingers hurt. My God, I kept thinking to myself, the words pounding with the blood against my head, My God, this is bad. This is bad.

After a while - a few minutes, forever, who knows how long, and does it make a difference? - female voices called from some where else in the house. "Les! Come here, we've got something to show you."

Uncle Les smiled and said to Dominic, "Women. What can you do?" Then he pulled up his trousers and went out the door, calling out, "Okay, I'm coming, can't a bloke play with his nephew every now and then?"

Dominic lay half-sprawled over his bed, his legs draped across the floor. I could see him clearly. His face was slack, like someone had cut the holds holding it up. His eyes… he wasn't even crying. If he had looked dead, that would have been okay, because at least when you're dead you can rest. He looked worse than dead.

My thoughts were a mess right then, like there were a bunch of different people talking in my mind at once. One voice kept saying, This is bad. My God, this is so bad. I was afraid that voice might never stop, and in some way I don't think it has. Another voice was wandering how long this must have been happening for. At least a couple of years. Another was calling Uncle Les all kinds of filthy names, and recalling the many times in school and on television that he had been told what to do if he thought a friend was being abused, the numbers to ring, the people to go to; he couldn't remember a single one, except the police. One little part of me, I'm ashamed to say, was fascinated by what had happened. After all, it was my first real-life exposure to sexual activity. But what I did soon after made that shame seem like nothing at all. Of course, a major part of me was overwhelmed with grief and pity. No wonder Dominic had so much trouble communicating. No wonder he got angry. The things he did to Samson were nothing compared to what happened to him. I hefted the backpack hanging in my hands, and felt a bitter wave of guilt.

Then I suddenly thought, So what if the things he did to me weren't as bad as the things done to him? He might not deserve to be treated like that, but neither do I! I thought we were friends! If he takes out his revenge on another innocent victim, then he's just as bad as his uncle. Gripped by the torrent of emotions swirling through me, I yelled out, "What are ya, a frigging a pansy?"

The world suddenly seemed very quiet, and my words cracked through that world like a firing squad. I looked in the window for another two seconds. First Dominic's eyes widened with surprise and then his face flooded with horror as he recognised my voice and realised what I must have seen. That was in one second. In the second second, I saw the most horrible thing of the whole trip. Tough Dominic, who always made the plans, always took the lead, who didn't really need anyone and could especially tell Samson to come and go as he pleased, Dominic realised I was never going to be able to support him again, and he looked hurt. In that second, I realised how much he loved me, and how I'd destroyed that love forever. Because a girl called Jemma egged me on. Because I wouldn't have known what to say next time I saw Dominic. Because I was petty, and weak, and got chased by a dog and ripped my jeans. I ran away then, going straight out through the front yard, not caring who saw me, hoping that Uncle Les would see me and spend the rest of the week worrying. Not that I ever told anyone, until now. I didn't really speak to Dominic again, either, but at least he stopped pushing me around. Good deal, eh? I guess I told you all this to show you, I do know what friendship's all about. You're only young, and one day you'll realise that I'm the best friend you have, I'm dependable and I'll always be here for you. Always.

Come here, my boy. You're only young, but my God, how you've grown.



"One of the principal functions of a friend is to suffer (in a milder and symbolic form) the punishments we should like, but are unable, to inflict upon our enemies."
Aldous Huxley