Audre & Bash Are Just Friends

by Tia Williams

I need you to stop saying that word, he thought, because I picture what it’s for, and I’m not chill enough to associate YOU… with… THAT… and act normal. It’s hard enough pretending that everything about you doesn’t throw me off! Your brain, your perfume, your bravery, even your arrogance. Especially your arrogance. And your crazy-beautiful skin and lashes and dimples that all blur together into an explosion of cute every time you smile. You have to stop saying it, because I’m just a guy, and my poker face is trash, and you’re fucking up my brain… and I momentarily forget that I shouldn’t be thinking of you as anything but a friend. And we’re becoming really good friends. And that it’s safer for you if we stay friends only.

If you grow up around older family members (aunts, uncles, grandparents), ask questions about their past. When you don’t know your family history, you can feel like an escaped balloon-no anchor, just floating away to who-knows-where. Alone.

it’s not, tho. therapists get anxiety too Audre: i know, i know Bash: ever heard of the 333 method

Audre: ofc, i’ve prescribed it a million times. when u feel panic coming on, u focus on 3 senses. something u can see, hear, and touch Bash: so why don’t you try it? Audre: cuz then i’d be admitting that I have panic attacks. admitting that I have panic attacks makes me wanna have a panic attack Bash: nah, man. ur gonna start doing 333. okay? Audre: okaayyyy Bash: ur stubborn as hell

“Right now, we’re just friends. But the way we… are with each other? I think that if we hang out too much, I could start feeling things.

“I want to be with one person.” She said this line with steely confidence, but her eyes were wide and vulnerable. “And I don’t wanna want something I can’t have. I have a book to write. And a future to plan. You know how that goes. You’re planning to move for your career. Permanently. All the way to Myrtle Beach.”

“Doesn’t he know that was a private thing?” rasped Bash, overcome with emotion. “He saw something that you don’t show anyone. It was a privilege that he ever got to be that close to you. To see you like that. Why didn’t he make you feel better? Try to help, or comfort you, whatever. Why wasn’t he good to you? You deserve that. And now you’ll always remember your prom like that. I wish I could correct all your bad memories, Audre. Erase them and give you better ones. If I see him again, I fucking promise you, if I see him…”

Later, they wouldn’t be able to remember who reached for who first. But they collided into each other, locking into an all-consuming embrace. It wasn’t careful, polite, or unsure. It was certain. The entire length of their bodies were pressed against each other’s. And still, it didn’t feel close enough.

“You fought for me. You fought. For me?” “And I’d do it again,” he whispered, ghosting his lips against hers. The chemistry was so strong, she gasped and pulled away, pressing her knuckles to her mouth. Then he dipped back down, drawing her into a real kiss this time. Hot, passionate, searching. She didn’t know how to kiss like this—but it was okay because, oh, Bash knew what he was doing.

Audre and Bash kissed forever. Could’ve been minutes, but it felt like hours. And when they finally stopped, the vibe was still there.

Who knew a 1980s relic would give me such confidence? Sometimes, reaching into the past helps you heal in the present. (Maybe that’s what my mom is trying to do with her book. But who knows.)

“Maybe every run before this one was practice. So that I could be fast enough to catch you before you went home.”

He felt so open and vulnerable that he might burst into tears if he held her gaze for too long.

She peered at her wrist. It was exactly what she’d asked for. 333. It was so personal, this mark he’d made on her. So intimate. No matter what happened to them, or between them—Audre would remember it forever.

The night before, their kisses had been soft and searching. But this one was dirtier, wetter, wilder. He kissed her like he’d never get to do it again—like he wanted her to remember it forever.

“We were vulnerable in there,” she said softly. “We finally let down our guard and just kind of…” “… did what we’ve been wanting to do all summer.”

It never occurred to Audre that Bash might be insecure. Or that he’d question how she felt about him.

Hanging with Audre all summer taught him that the old cliché was true. Home wasn’t a location. It was a feeling. Bash’s home was wherever she was.

Turns out, Reshma was right, she thought. I did need to experience real life to make me a better therapist.

For the first week after her mom brutally ended her only real chance at happiness, Audre stayed on the couch, buried under blankets. She cried racking, silent sobs for three days (until she gave herself a nosebleed from dehydration). Then the nightmares started. She never remembered any specifics, but she always woke up the same way—digging her nails into her palms like she was fighting to hold on to something that was slipping away. The next phase? Feverishly buying relationship self-help books on Kindle. She read The Wisdom of a Broken Heart, The Breakup Bible, and Emotional Self-Care for Black Women, and couldn’t find a single detail on how to remove the section of her heart that ached for Bash Henry.

Art therapy may not cure anxiety, but it definitely soothes and calms. It’s cathartic. It’s healing.

She’s Still There: Rescuing the Girl in You.

She named us after the most important Black female writers in history. I’m Audre Zora Maya Toni—for Audre Lorde, Zora Neale Hurston, Maya Angelou, and Toni Morrison. You’re Alice Maya Octavia—for Alice Walker, Maya Angelou, and Octavia Butler. She set the bar too high for us from the day we were born.

I thought excellence would save me. But I’m not saved. I’m not different, or special. I’m heartbroken. I’m so fucking heartbroken. Just like all my clients I secretly thought were silly because they didn’t have my gift for good sense. Baby Alice, making the ‘right’ choices doesn’t guarantee you a happy ending. So, follow your own path. Take chances, be wild, make mistakes, get messy, be colorful. Be true to whoever you are.” She paused, squinting at her sister. “Who are you, I wonder?”

“Right. So, at Shane’s mentorship group, he gave us all an assignment. We had to make a list of goals to accomplish by the end of the year. And I thought, this could be my own Experience Challenge. And, if you’re down, I’d like you to help me with it. You know, be my funsultant.”

5. Tell the most important person in my life how I feel about her. Bash folded the paper up and slid it back into his pocket. He bit his bottom lip, trying to hold back a smile. “Come here.” Audre flew off the bench and practically catapulted herself into his arms. With a happy laugh, he swept her into an embrace—holding on so tightly, it was as if he’d never let go. Heart thundering, she pulled back from him a little. She gazed into his eyes and felt dizzy with emotion. “How do you feel about the most important person in your life?” she whispered. Bash brushed his nose against hers and said, “I love you, A.” “I love you, too, B.”