Milena and I had built a deep friendship. We met when we were 17, when we were in high school, and we created a very strong bond, tinged with great affection and romantic feelings – we would sometimes say to each other ” I love you “ – even though we’ve never slept together. These are the ages when you discover a lot of things, and where you can experience a very powerful friendship.
Milena lived love stories, of course. When we were 18 or 19, she dated a boy named Romain. Their story lasted about a year. I saw him from time to time, we went to the same parties, and then we got along well; we became friends. I was not in the privacy of their relationship, she did not talk to me about it. I just knew their relationship was rocky, they both had strong characters and often quarreled. One evening, at a party, Romain broke the mouth of a guy who had tried to abuse her. He had been drinking, no one thought much of his reaction.
A little later, Milena and Romain separated. I don’t remember that we talked about this breakup together. She found another boyfriend, and I didn’t notice any change in her behavior. Life has resumed its course. We stayed very close, I would even say that our bond has strengthened. I moved to New York, and she joined me there for a few months. We saw each other very often, I was there for her when things were wrong, and so was she. We had a stable and deep friendship: there were phases when we spoke less to each other, but our trust in each other was intact, and we could call each other when we felt the need, in total fluidity.
General unavailability
I’m back in France. At the end of 2019, she told me that she was a lesbian. I was surprised, yes, but I think I knew without knowing. I was happy for her. Subsequently, she invested a lot in the feminist cause, began to write on the subject. Soon after, in early 2020, my father had a stroke. I thought he was going to die. He was admitted to the hospital, and confinement arrived. I went through a very difficult period, without being able to go see him, even though I thought he was in danger of death. I sent Milena several messages – voicemail, text messages – but I couldn’t tell her clearly enough that it was wrong. I did not express my expectation of her, at a time when I needed her support. For her part, she was taken by something else, in full coming out, and more and more invested in activism. More broadly, I believe it was like a form of general unavailability on his part, which had to correspond to a major change of direction in his own life. I accepted it and I did without it. At the end of the confinement, in May, I was able to return to see my father in the hospital and take care of him. It was getting better.
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