I have been a friend of Coal for years. My entire family are friends of Coal, and always have been. As a child, Coal would always be waiting for me at the head of my holler. Every Christmas — Coal in my stocking. Other kids would be upset, seeing Coal for Christmas, but not I. A piece of Coal would be with me wherever I went. Coal was with me through the late study nights, the missed party invites, my first breakup: No matter what, Coal was always there.
We only grew closer.
Coal was always talking about how much they needed my support — I enthusiastically obliged, of course. I’d worn Coal t-shirts, harassed insensitive environmentalists, placed stickers on my truck proclaiming my affection for Coal to the world — nothing was too much for my dear, sweet Coal. Biased articles speaking out for “clean energy” and to “literally save the world from a global ecological catastrophe” only fueled our love. Literally. We used them to start Coal’s fire each day.
But alas, after all of the affection and effort I put in, Coal shot me down. You would think that, after all of the time, effort, and risk-of-cancer-related-death I endured for them, they would be willing to take things to the next level. I’m a nice guy after all, nothing like those tobacco-spittin’, slack-jawed, Confederate-flag-totin’ jerks Coal seems to go for now. Why. Why does coal deny our love? They deserve more — I deserve more. I would tirelessly question Coal, but instead of giving me any sort of reason, they would simply say they “only saw me as a friend.”
As I sit here, typing this, I’m trying to understand why the work I put into this relationship didn’t pay off. Now I sit, defeated — only a friend. A friend of Coal. I was trying to make Coal a diamond, but I guess Coal is just a little smut.
BY: NOM de FRENCH