i'm giving up on friendship
january 6, 2024. 2:34 am. lover’s and friends, brooklyn. my best friend will text me in .002 seconds because I erased her face on substack - the title was a little clickbait, not you girl i’d die / BRIANNA RYNÉE
— REPUBLISHED FROM BLACK TEA AT MIDNIGHT
Party Night: December 19, 2024, 11:13 pm - The Hill
Friend: “We’re going to tell Marshall happy birthday, then we’re going home.”
The basement was loud and smelled of disappointment. I couldn’t manage to respond, so I let my friend and his boyfriend walk past me.
I was pissed. A sudden, sharp anger that can only be birthed from embarrassment and exhaustion.
Only 10 minutes before, I saw my ex’s ex-girlfriend walk down the stairs to set the birthday boy’s cake ablaze. Our eyes met each other, but she didn’t see me.
Again.
December 2, 2024, 8:24 pm - South City, St. Louis
Bouncer: “Can I see your ID?”
I tucked my smile behind my ears and handed him my Illinois driver’s license. We’ve done this dance dozens of times, but I changed my hair, so he no longer recognizes me. Black girls, you know the deal.
I walked into the bar and of course, saw no one I knew. A quick scan showed a person of interest. The girl he was sitting with scowled at me.
I spoke to the bartender, Justin, and opened The Box. Over and over, I threw two wooden dice and knocked down the coordinating number tabs. Some guy materializes beside me to ask, “How can you play that without getting bored?” I could’ve told him I was autistic, instead I shrugged and kept playing.
There was a negative silence before he left.
I’m savoring my overpriced Origin gimlet with extra lime when I see the face of the woman my ex refused to forget.
We’d met once on an August night in 2023. I crawled into the back seat of my coworker’s car to see this funny girl snorting coke. Eventually, they pass it to me and I decline, loosely referencing my “thing” with hard drugs.
There’s not much of a thing; my dad’s life spiraled to a dramatic end carried by addiction. So, I only drink heavily.
They nodded in respect then we drunkenly talked for hours. It was my first outing since moving back to St. Louis. 18 months later, it’s still one of my favorite nights since being home.
9:16 pm
She walked passed me with two friends then ordered a shot of tequila, warm.
I really like that girl.
It took about two hours of staring, strange smiles, and awkward interjections to realize she didn’t recognize me. I felt so fucking lame.
Oh hey, insecurity girl. It’s been what, six hours?
Eventually, she goes to the restroom and when she returns, I blurt out her name. She stares, obviously drunk and confused, but I explain how I know her without mentioning our ex.
She doesn’t remember me but humors the conversation.
I was so nervous, I kept talking as she was clearly trying to leave. Despite my efforts to communicate our connection telepathically, she rejoins her friends and I’m slapped with an icy chill of humiliation.
Party Night: December 19, 2024, 11:03 pm - The Hill
I see her (my ex’s ex), kiss the only man I found attractive at the party, then round the corner to gift Marshall in song.
“These are her friends,” I say to myself.
Slowly, I look around to see what’s happening; everyone is gathered to celebrate someone’s day. We’re collectively showing love for this human. I join in to sing Happy Birthday although we’ll never meet.
The jealousy I feel quiets my world until there are only muffled sounds of fake joy.
It’s my voice I hear.
january 11, 2025. 2:39pm. st. louis, missouri. 21 minutes before i am due at work. i cannot wait to move away from this hellhole. / BRIANNA RYNÉE
The Day Before: December 18, 2024, 6:33 pm - The Loop
It’s day 13 of me being kinda sober. I got drunk at work and complained to my coworkers about how lonely I was; I begged them to tell me what was wrong with me. The 23-year-old suggested I lower my standards. I wanted his opinion, but I took it with a grain of salt as he’s young, looks like me, but only expresses interest in women who don’t.
My other coworker, who’s 33, understood I wasn’t exclusively talking about romance and shared how it’s been difficult establishing friendships in adulthood, too. But, you know, he’s partnered so he hears someone else’s voice echo throughout his home.
I was so hungover the next day, I had to open the bar an hour late and leave early. So, I’ve been taking a break.
During my nightly “drive around aimlessly and cry” routine, I get the wild idea to go to my friend’s bar. Didn’t feel like checking to see if he was working, I just needed direction.
Friend: “Bitch, they done got my ass again! I’m at the bar.”
Look at the universe work, I was 6 minutes away.
He has a regular job now, so he only picks up shifts. The industry has a way of shackling you if you’re not careful.
This time sober, I spill my guts about how hard it’s been to make friends amidst the ghosting, flaking, and overall convincing people I’m a good time compared to their established friend group and partner.
He apologizes and suggests we go walk the next day. Though I love my friend - and wasn’t being passive-aggressive when I complained about the state of my relationships - I knew we weren’t going on no damn walk.
He’d text the next day with an excuse and I’d be disappointed as I was looking forward to friend time. Unfortunately, he does this all the time. I’m a fellow depressed gal, so I don’t take it personally, but I know this man.
To get ahead of it, I never got my hopes up in the first place.
I let him know my daughter’s Christmas recital was at 6 pm the next day, so I’d need to leave at 5 pm.
Party Night (The Next Day): 4:45 pm - Text
Friend: “Hey girl, I’m so so so sleepy. Omggg.”
I know people are busy. I’m people. What I am uncomfortable with is the lack of respect for my time. Don’t offer quality time to someone drowning in isolation then as they reach for support you say, “Oh my god, I’m so so sleepy. Sorry :)”
I cheer on my baby in a hilariously unorganized show, then he texts me again.
Friend: “Hey! So my friend’s birthday is tonight and he’s performing. Wanna come?”
It’s my daughter’s father’s week, so I’ll be free after the concert. I figured a house party would be a great place to meet people, so I agreed.
Still, my friend cancels all the time, so I didn’t get ready until he confirmed.
As I sat on my couch moisturized and smelling good, I realized it was 10 pm - the party started an hour ago.
Friend: “We’re on the way”
Me, lying: “I’m driving up,”
Mama was parked at Slim Chicken. I scarf down my food and get there in 6 minutes.
Vibes were a little off when I arrived. He admits he forgot it was BYOB and there’s nothing to drink. I wasn’t too pressed as I hadn’t been drinking, but I mention the gas station nearby. Though, the suggestion was drowned out by the swell of the party as we walked into the house.
Everything in St. Louis is dead as fuck; this party was no different. Beyond the music, there were virtually no signs of life, let alone a celebration.
“I wanna go home,” I say to myself. I caught a glimpse of my reflection and asked, with contempt, '“Where is that?”
Me: “I don’t know know!”
Friend: “Huh?”
Me, startled: “Oh nothing. Just talking to myself, hehe.”
I need to see that lady.
We enter the basement to find a ceiling ill-equipped to handle stallions. To my surprise, I also find humans I’d never seen before. I make eye contact with a few people and, despite my best efforts, allow myself to step out of hopelessness.
The longer I stand in the doorway, the more people begin to stare. I’m 5’9 with a huge fro, so I look at least 6 feet tall. That hope morphes into excitement.
Me, my friend, and his boyfriend sit on the bean bag and talk for a few minutes. I comment on the music.
Friend: “Yea, he’s really good. He’s been playing for years.”
I hear people shuffle down the stairs before I see her.
A bar, my bar even, is one thing. In the intimate setting of a stranger’s home where I’m faced with the reality that I’m the foreigner in my own hometown?
Yea, I was caught off-guard.
She looks through me in a way I’ll never get used to then lights the cake.
People are smiling, giggling, and joining in on the surprise. The birthday boy, at the other end of the room, is oblivious.
It’s fucking adorable.
I watch in envy as all hearts are directed toward Marshall. He lowers his mic and his hands to grip the ass of some white girl and buries his face in her neck.
September 9, 2024, Midnight - Valencia, Spain
“Happy Birthday! You’re 32, in a new country alone, fine as fuck, and you have a date later!”
I whisper into the aggressively bright bathroom mirror so I don’t wake up my German housemate.
My birthday is lovely. My date is cool. He ghosts me later.
september 8, 2024. valencia, spain. my last day of 31. / BRIANNA RYNÉE
Me: “I want a drink. Do you want to go to the gas station with me?”
My friend nervously looks at his partner.
Ain’t no motherfucking way.
Friend: “We’re going to go say happy birthday to Marshall, then we’re headed out.”
In 30 minutes, I’d gone from skeptical, to disappointed, to cautiously hopeful, to excited, to shaken, to pissed.
I walked upstairs to wait for them in my fog of embarrassment and shock.
Random dude: “Do you work at Sophie’s?”
Me, startled again: “Huh?”
Rando: “Do you work at Sophie’s, the bar?”
Me: “…no.”
NPC: “Oh, okay, You’re a dead ringer for her.”
I can guarantee I look nothing like this woman. She’s likely just black, maybe with a fro. Every day I’m compared to or mistaken for another black woman. It’s a not-so-subtle reminder that what people see when they look at me is nothing more than a silhouette.
It’s a not-so-subtle reminder that I, Briana, am not granted personhood in this land. Pretty sure this is why people can’t remember who I am or my name even when we’ve spoken multiple (sometimes dozens) of times.
My friend saunters up the stairs like he didn’t waste my time and gas.
Me: “Hey, in the future just let me know if you don’t feel like hanging out for long. That way I can decide for myself if it’s worth it to come out.”
He looks sheepishly at his partner.
I question whether or not I’m being aggressive, then I quickly decide I don’t give a shit.
I hug both of them, my friend apologizes softly, and then I storm out.
Somehow, I ended up at a bar my former coworker manages. They tell me about their seizures and I try my best not to spiral.
I order an Origin French 75, and it’s served to me with ice. ICE.
This is my dropping the keys after an arduous day moment.
Without trying, I look through my friend in a way I’ll never get used to. Probably confused, they walk away after I don’t respond.
I’d come to see an old friend, apparently, he moved to California. No goodbye, just a cryptic Instagram post of him in an alley tagged, Cali.
It’s at this moment I decided to give up.
Signed,
An apathetic bri
Editor’s note -
I love people, connection, love, and community - I’ll never give up on that. However, my experiences over the last 6-8 months have shown me I am not in my homeland, even if it’s the place that birthed me. My time back home has been necessary, believe it or not. Even so, my spirit cannot thrive here; I simply do not fit in, and that’s okay. Though I am absolutely giving up on the pursuit of friendship in St. Louis, I’m redirecting that energy into a quest. Think quirky side quest, but uprooting my life in a desperate intentional search of what’s next for me and my daughter. Everything is up in the air, but I’m leaving this hellhole come Spring to figure out where we’ll live. Excited for the next chapter in my life. 2025 is a universal 9 year, as well as a personal 9 year for me. If you’re new to numerology (comme moi), that basically means the energy behind this year predicts the closing of a chapter - the end of an era babes! What’s exciting about that is when one door closes…
So, get in, loser; we’re going abroad.
(Definitely stopping in New York first because I NEED SHENANIGANS, FUCK. The Midwest is so goddamn boring. This is not real life. It’s not natural to live like this and I’ll die on that hill.)
:)
