When Platonic Relationships Begin with a Spark
The joys of a flirty platonic friendship
We were seen together so often that people assumed we were dating. Even though we lived in Chicago, a city of 2.5 million people, our little community of friends in the Lincoln Park area was small enough that people knew about “us.”
We’d be seen walking on West Armitage or Webster Avenue along an icy sidewalk, her arm nestled in the crook of my elbow. We looked the part. We looked like a couple. What else would people think?
She was a beautiful woman, but we got off to such a bad start when we met that looks never had much of a chance to toy with our dynamic. We met through a group of mutual friends, and we started the festivities with insults I no longer recall. It’s been more than thirty years. My memory clock doesn’t wind back that far without a lot of stuck gears.
If I were a shrink, I’d guess that the shared insults were bizarre attention-getting devices born of an initial attraction.
The insults were supposed to be jokes conforming to the clique we were in. We hung around a crowd of thespians, artists, and writers, where trash-talking was one of our immortal bonds.
The thespians from one of the big local theater companies would trash the writers in our group, blasting out taunts like, “None of your stuff will see the light of day.” And we writers would respond with barbs like, “Can’t wait to see your Pampers commercial. Very excited.”
Later, we’d all urge each other on, and we writers would encourage everyone to see our friends at the latest play at the Goodman or the newest experiment at a nearby box theater (12 chairs and a stage). The thespians would go to our poetry slams or hound us to send our stories to the Paris Review (they were ambitious).
The trash-talking between my new but not yet friend and me was clumsy, so we stopped doing it. It took a while for our friendship to gain footing after that, but once it did, it took off boundlessly.
As our relationship grew and we found ourselves hanging out together all the time and chatting on the phone nearly every night, we checked in with each other one time at lunch. The conversation went something like this:
“Should we be dating?”
“Oh, God no.”
“Thank God!”
She was the one who said “Thank God,” but I didn’t feel shot into the dreaded friend zone. I felt the same way she did, and we got a good laugh out of it.
I have much joy associated with those old memories of her, and I won’t lie: I was a little disappointed when she found the man who would take her away from me. And I knew it the minute she met him that he was the one. That’s how close we were.
I was so happy for her that I didn’t consider how much I would miss her at first: Not until the phone calls trailed off and she finally moved with him to another state.
I, too, was starting a new relationship, but you can’t replace people. It’s not like I could say to myself on an icy street, “Same arm, new person, ah, whatever, it’s all the same.”
It’s not.
Our transformation from frenemies to good friends to an eventual separation was organic, culminating in a sting of grief when she moved.
I think, though, that this is how it should be. When people who are important to us leave our lives, it hurts. It wasn’t a heartbreak kind of hurt. It was a void that took time to fill. I missed her soul.
My first platonic girlfriend was just before kindergarten.
Amy and I did everything together. Whether it was looking at Salty Monroe’s frog collection down the street or engaging in a rousing game of hopscotch, we were inseparable for one long summer.
We were also way ahead of our time. One day we decided that when we were grown-ups, we’d switch genders and marry each other.
I don’t remember the reasoning behind the gender switch prerequisite for marriage. We were little kids. So maybe it was just “because.”
I seemed to have a different “girlfriend” each year from kindergarten until fifth grade. But I don’t remember any sense of attraction. I just liked hanging out with them. I had a couple of male best friends in those days, too, but both Tommy and Jeff were unreliable and had scary parents:
It wasn’t until I met Loretta in the fifth grade that I understood the concept of intense attraction. She was a pretty blond girl with curvy monolid eyes and such a fair complexion that it looked like it should begin to burn as soon as she ventured outside.
She was bused into my elementary school, so most of our time together was spent during lunch recess and between classes, which at our school were split by subject matter with different teachers.
We never held hands or pecked each other’s cheek, or whatever fifth graders do when they express their affection for one another, but I did have a terrible crush, and my first heartbreak came on the last day of school when she waved goodbye through the grimy back window of the school bus with a smile that seared my spine.
Sluts that we both were, we both moved on to someone else that summer, me to Chrissy, a girl who lived near me, and Loretta to Colin, a kid who lived near Loretta. There was no animosity.
When she arrived by bus at my school with Colin that next spring, I waved sheepishly to her while showing Chrissy little palm-sized comic books I created called The Adventures of Dr. Maums (©1969, All Rights Reserved) while we were sitting on a short brick wall near the swing set. These were made from folded, ruled notebook paper and drawn with Dixon Ticonderoga pencils, Number Two.
I was proud of my comic books, which starred a Cousin It type of character named Dr. Maums. He was bent on the destruction of the universe. His trademark was leaving behind a planet marked with the words “ASH” on it after extracting its minerals with a giant orbiting can opener.
I was ahead of my time. The can opener was remote-controlled from his spaceship, which proves that I knew the age of robotics and drones was nearly upon us. I don’t think the fact he used a walky-talky to control the orbiting can opener lessens the truth of my clairvoyance.
When water poured out of the equator of one of the victim planets after getting peeled open, Chrissy clapped her hands in glee when the planet proceeded to consume Dr. Maums’ spaceship. It was a desert planet, so she considered this a shocking development.
It’s a wonder I didn’t eventually get hired by Jack Kirby and friends.
Chrissy was the first girl I knew who swore, and whoa, she swore like a sailor. This confused me, so I asked my dad about it, but he, being a former World War Two Navy (fully ANTIFA) man, seemed confused about why I’d be concerned.
I thought Chrissy was beautiful, especially her long brown hair that dropped down in such a straight formation below her shoulders that each strand looked like it had been meticulously tinkered with as it fell.
She was the first girl to fire up the jealousy gene in me. I hated it when other boys talked to her. A lot of boys talked to her. But I got over it. I was way too young to understand what to do with my feelings other than seek out her company, which, happily enough, she never objected to.
She was also my first foray into a platonic relationship with someone I was attracted to. My crush, if that’s what it was, transformed into something else.
We were good friends all through high school, but we never dated. Something switched inside of me at some point. I don’t remember when or why. Maybe it was as simple as interest in other girls.
We advanced from neighborhood games of kick-the-can with mutual friends to smoking bowls outside the gym during high school lunch hours.
I liked her. I wanted to be with her. But high school came and went without me wondering if she’d want to date me. That’s what we called a physical relationship in those days — “dating”. I have no idea what the kids are calling it now. Right swipe?1
Chrissy was my first foray into the world of platonic relationships that started with a spark. Since then, there have been several more. Through college, through various jobs, and through the group therapy of common friends slinging barbs at each other during three am weekend breakfasts at the diner.
Most of them began with mutual attraction.
My experiences are mostly colored by the context of the hetero world. I’m an aggressive and loud supporter of the LGBTQ+ community, but my experiences within that community are limited to my imagination and the experiences of my friends in the community, and I wouldn’t want to speak for them.
That said, I do think we all can look at the concept of physical attraction and flirting and say, “Is this really about sex?”
Why is there mutual attraction? Is there something beyond the physical that is going on? Is there a connection that should be explored even if the timing isn’t right for a sexual relationship? Could destiny even be involved?
One of my best friends called me one day while I was at work. She was desperate for flu medicine for one of her three children. Her husband was on a business trip, and her car was on the fritz from a bad microchip, which in those days was enough to take down the whole vehicle. Could I please stop by on my way home from work to get her medicine?
Her house was on my way home to San Francisco from the South Bay. Long commute. I wasn’t happy. But I cheerfully said, “Of course.”
This is not a heroic moment. Movies don’t get made of such things. I didn’t rescue anyone. When I arrived, neither was there one of those movie moments where the characters take advantage of a husband’s absence, give the kids lots of Benadryl, and have their way with each other.
Nothing like that crossed our minds. It was a handoff. “Gotta go,” I said, shoving a bag into her hands. I-280 North was always an adventure, and I wanted to get it over with. She gave me a quick, appreciative hug, and that was it.
But what if it had been something more serious than a routine Benadryl drop? What if one of us had been destined to alter the other’s life in a meaningful, positive way that day? What if she had called me with a more serious issue?
I can think of moments when we did impact each other’s lives in memorable ways. We can’t know everything that goes on under the hood. It’s possible that one of those times changed a life for the better in ways I’ll never know about.
Mutual attraction may be nothing more than a signal from the universe that someone has the potential to create a positive experience in your life.
To that end, I think there’s a metaphysical component to physical attraction.
It may be that your connection with someone may lead to a long, blissful romantic relationship. But it might be about something else.
Besides, what if you’re already in a relationship with someone else? What if you both are? Does that mean you shut it all down when a spark flies? I guess that depends on how much you trust yourself (all of this assuming you’re not in an open relationship).
Everyone’s comfort level is different, but in my experience, I have found that a mutual attraction, even within the realm of a monogamist and loving relationship with someone else, can lead to long-term friendship (in which case it’s a very good idea to check in with your partner and not hide anything).
Are we playing with fire when we respond to a spark? If we’re in a committed relationship, of course we are. But even then, it depends on other things, mostly around self-control and motives.
For me, platonic relationships have informed my writing as much as any romantic relationships have. I’d feel emptier without being able to draw them from my quiver of life experiences that I carry with me as I write.
It’s more than that, of course. Each one of them has helped build the network of stories that make up my soul. Each spark that prompted one of them was a touchstone to a universe that would not exist if I hadn’t allowed myself an opportunity to explore the rich detail they presented to me.
I’d be a smaller soul without them.
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Footnotes
I’m so out of touch with that world that I don’t know if it’s right swipe “yes” or left swipe. Please forgive me for my lack of research on this topic.
👏🏼👏🏼👏🏼 I love this type of writing Charles! Excellent piece. It’s how I get to know and understand who Charles really is! 😁
The first thing that attracts me to someone is a) their intelligence and b) their sense of humor. My best relationships with the opposite sex have both...I have a strong personality and a big heart. Some men are intimidated - the ones that think I'm funny are the keepers.