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“Come on, goddamn it…”
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“Hello?” The voice is a bit bleary. Well, she doesn’t work till noon or so, so that makes sense enough.
“Hey, it’s me. I’m 20 minutes away, and I need access right away to your internet connection, probably for about 4 hours. Can you help me out?” I’m not panicked, but I’m sure the strain is obvious in my voice.
The barest of pauses. “Done. I’ll clear off the desk,” Susanne replies, and I toss the phone into the passenger seat, cursing and swinging out to pass a semi.
I’ve been at my job for maybe two months and I’m supposed to be conducting an online training session for a group of property managers right now. I’m not doing that, because…well, it’s complicated. Okay, fine, it’s not so complicated – I had a very nice date the night before, slept through the alarm and woke up to my cell phone ringing 30 seconds before I was supposed to be logged in from the office, which is a solid hour’s drive away. Shit.
I can fix this, just gotta buy five minutes so I can get online from home. Except that doesn’t work, because my cable connection is utter shit, and now my hangover has turned into a freaking migraine. Okay, okay…shit. Call the boss, tell him a white lie and – damn it, he thinks this is funny, the bastard. Deep breaths, I can figure this out. Get in the car and drive to the highway. If Susanne answers, I’m golden. And if not, well, I have to hit the highway to get to the office anyway. I’m still in yesterday’s clothes (it was a very good date), so going in to see my coworkers in this state isn’t ideal, but that’s at the bottom of my list of problems at the moment.
Susanne and I have been friends for some time by now, just about since I joined the RPG group she runs. Her fiancé, Ken, is a friend too, but not as close – we’re buddies, Susanne and I are friends. Still, I didn’t know we were the sort of friends who could call on no notice on a random Tuesday morning and basically demand a favor, particularly with no reasonable explanation. I’m idly glad that Ken didn’t answer the phone, or else I’d be telling him the whole story right now. It’s reasonable that he’d ask, but I haven’t the time to spare at the moment. Swearing, I reach over to the passenger seat to open my laptop while doing 75 down the highway. Don’t try this one at home, kids. Or, rather, do try it at home. Don’t try it on the road.
Whatever.
I’ve put my class off by nearly 45 minutes now, and I look like a moron. I start updating my resume in my head, fighting the urge to open it up on the laptop so I can look it over while driving.
The front door is unlocked, and I throw a wave to Ken and Susanne on my way up the stairs. There’s a glass of Pepsi waiting for me and the Ethernet cable is pulled out of the back of the PC, ready to connect to my laptop. Two minutes later, I’m logged in, and my students are laughing at the BS story I’m giving them to explain my tardiness.
Friendship is a funny thing. I’ve got three friends who would do what Susanne did that day. Don’t misunderstand – there are any number of people who would lend me their internet connection with a little notice and a brief explanation. But there are only three who wouldn’t ask a question because they know that when I say I need to know the answer now, there’s a good reason.
Levi is one of them. We’ve been best friends since the 6th grade, and he’s my brother in most any way that matters. We’ve been best man for each other (one disastrous marriage – mine, and one great one – his), and we’ve laughed at one another’s misfortunes and we’ve competed in things we have no business considering a competitive event. We quote movies to each other and give unsolicited advice and sometimes we even listen to and follow that advice. And last year, I was in Missouri visiting Levi and his wife while on a business trip, when I lost my debit card. This was a problem because I needed the thing so I could make the next leg of my trip up to Minnesota the next week. Fortunately, there’s a single lonely branch of my credit union in the area, and I set out to withdraw enough cash to get through the week and then cancel the card.
Problem was, my foolproof directions…erm, weren’t, and I had ten minutes to get there before the place closed for the Thanksgiving weekend. I fumbled for my phone and called Levi.
“Yo.” Levi and I have never been much for pleasantries with each other.
“I’m wandering randomly east on 119th street, and I have no idea where this place is. Is it east or west of Blackbob Road? And who the holy hell names your streets around here, anyway?”
No questions. No talking, either, just the sound of a man typing furiously on his keyboard. Levi gives me the information in a ridiculously short time and I mutter, “Thanks,” before stabbing the End Call button. I make it in the nick of time, and all is well. I resolve to celebrate my good fortune by spotting Levi a few points in our next arcade tournament of geekiness, but I manage to forget this resolution before the event materializes.
Jeff is another friend who fits this particular bill. When I first met him, we worked at Pizza Hut together, and I overheard him talking about having a new grill from his parents but not knowing how to use it. Sensing the lure of a free dinner, I invited myself over for dinner and offered to show him how to grill. We became fast friends, especially when I spied his collection of gaming crap on the bookshelves, and we talked in geek code for months. Jeff and I stood up in each others’ weddings (both disastrous) and lived together for a while in college.
Once, my girlfriend was coming to visit our place unexpectedly and I was in a panic over the smells emanating from odd corners of the house. Sensing my stress by virtue of hearing me muttering like a lunatic, Jeff asked, “What’s the matter?”
“Tawnie’s coming over. Tonight. Now.”
“Oh, fuck,” he replied. And we cleaned like our lives depended on it, as perhaps they did.
Years later, I was sitting home alone, quite drunk, and called Jeff.
“What’s the matter?” he asked.
“Tawnie’s left, and she’s not coming back.”
“Oh, fuck.”
And we talked for hours, and he was on my side, not because I was right (though mostly I was) but because he’s my friend. It took me at least two hours before I heard his girlfriend’s voice in the background. They had a long-distance relationship, and I knew he didn’t see her that often.
“Shit, man,” I started, “you have company. You don’t need to-“
He cut me off. “Shut up,” he said, and such was my state of mind that I actually did.
And then there’s Susanne. I stood up in her wedding (a good one. I’m batting over .500 as a groomsman now), and we’ve launched a business together and we’ve shared advice and carbohydrates and mostly we’ve laughed at the same jokes and been called twins. We got to know each other through a game, and we have serious conversations over dinner and watch episodes of Firefly and Black Adder, but I think our friendship really began on the day that she asked no questions.
It’s late afternoon now, and my training has finally wrapped up. Both of my bemused hosts have long since left for their own jobs, and it’s time for me to go home, get a shower and call the woman I went out on that very good date with. But before I do, I reach for a pen and paper to write a thank you note.
Except…
Instead, I write out an invoice, detailing the things I used at Ken and Susanne’s ‘Business Center’ (one pepsi, 3 glasses of water, 5 hours of oxygen, and 3 paper towels) and attach a $1.00 bill. I post it on the refrigerator before I leave, and it’s been hanging there for nearly three years now.
When you have a friend who doesn’t ask questions, thank-you notes are overrated, anyway.
Your friends will wonder in which direction your life philosophy has wandered when they see this hand-carved knife block, a prototype by Irene van Gestel of 
