You’re not sure how it happened. You aren’t even exactly sure when it began. Most important, you aren’t really sure that you’re all that happy with the way things have turned out. But it doesn’t matter, because it’s done: You have become the guy who girls go to for advice. Which doesn’t really sound that bad, because, you know, at least girls are talking to you. The thing is they don’t really seem to see you as an actual guy, one they could possibly date. It’s almost as if, to them, you’re asexual. And the thought makes you shudder. At first it was just your friend Chris’s girlfriend, Jenny. And that made sense, because you do know Chris pretty well. But then, she must have told her friends how great you were at helping her, because now they’re all coming to ask you stuff.

It’s always when they’re having a fight with their boyfriend or have a crush on some loser who won’t give them the time of day. They tell you the situation and then you offer them words of wisdom. Or so they say. You sure don’t feel wise though, because you can’t get a date to save your life. Lately, as you sit with some girl on the steps in front of the library or on the swings at the park you have to force yourself to actually listen to what she’s saying. She’ll be going on and on about how he just doesn’t understand her and never does anything romantic. Eventually it escalates and she’s starting to cry and asking why she can’t be prettier or skinnier or, occasionally, smarter. It’s getting harder and harder for you to nod quietly and smile sympathetically like you usually do, because lately you have the strongest urge to just grab her, whoever she is. Not in a rough, violent way, but a loving, even passionate way. You want to hold her and wipe her tears away and explain to her that she is perfect as she is and anyone who doesn’t appreciate that isn’t worth her time. You, honestly, don’t think you will ever actually do it. You have resigned yourself to just being “the friend.”

Your guy friends are all suspicious of you, sure that you must know all sorts of juicy secrets about them. And, for the most part, you do. You know John has given his girlfriend of a year, Lindsay an ultimatum: Put out by Junior Prom or he’s taking someone else. You know that Mitch owes his girlfriend, Dana almost $100 - money that she lent him to buy weed. You even know that Paul has been pressuring his girlfriend Linda to get engaged, because she’s supposed to go to Europe with her parents over summer break and he wants to be sure that she won’t cheat on him. And you know that she doesn’t think she is in love with him anyway, and probably will cheat on him in Europe. You laugh when they ask you what you know. Sometimes you raise your eyebrows and smile mischievously to mess with them.

One night you go with your friends to some party. Apparently, someone’s parents went out of town or something and everyone is in the house, getting drunk on cheap beer and dancing to crappy music. You are hanging out in the backyard, by your self, even though it’s early-March and you’re shivering in your coat. You are smoking a joint that you bought from one of your friends for a couple of dollars and sitting on a wooden bench swing. Looking up you notice that the moon is full. It crosses your mind that full moons can cause people to act crazy.

“Hey, Toby.”

Lindsay’s standing before you with a sad smile on her face, her cheeks are flushed from the cold and her dark hair is blowing back off her face. She’s mesmerizing and you stare at her too long, causing her to look down at her shoes, awkwardly.

“Hey . . . so you want to sit?” You are preparing yourself to hear all about a fight that she and John had, but something gives you a tiny glimmer of hope that it might be something else. Or maybe you’re just stoned.

She walks toward you tentatively and sits down beside you. She’s shivering in her sweater and you wonder where her coat is. Without thinking, you remove your own and place it over her shoulders. She smiles, making eye contact for what feels like minutes but is probably mere seconds.

“Thanks. I’m not sure where mine went. John took it from me when we got here. I’m quite sure he’s making out with Jamie Seidler right now in there.” She shrugs and lifts the corners of her mouth in an attempted smile.

You sit in silence for ten or, maybe, fifteen minutes. You swing on the bench a little and gaze up at the stars, wondering if there are any constellations visible. Eventually, Lindsay speaks again.

“I wish he were more like you.” Her voice is quiet, almost a whisper. You wonder if you heard her right.

"You like me, don't you, Toby?" She says it like she already knows the answer and for a minute you consider denying it.

"Yes." You nod a little as you say it.

Suddenly, Lindsay is moving closer to you on the bench. She stops when her lips are less than an inch from your's. You can feel her breath, warming your face. You can smell her shampoo. She smells like a girl - flowery and clean. It occurs to you that she is so close, if you exhaled your lips would be touching hers. She is waiting for you to kiss her. Instead, you stand.

"What's wrong, Toby? Are you worried about John? I told you, he's making out with Jamie."

You start to laugh, though there is nothing you find funny.

"No, it's just...I'm not that guy, Lindsay. I mean, yeah, I like you. Of course..." You shove your hands into your pockets, partly because they're freezing, partly because you don't want her to see that they are starting to shake.

"I'm just not the guy that you make out with to get back at your boyfriend. Or the one that you use to make yourself feel better. Come on, you know that's not me. No, I'm the other guy. The one you talk to about things. I'm that guy that listens and nods and goes home alone. So, sorry, but ...no."

You aren't sure what to do or say after your self-righteous little speech, so you walk back to the house. You go inside and search for someone who isn't drunk and you ask them to take you home. On Monday, Lindsay approaches you in the hallway to return your coat and you see John waiting for her. As they walk away he puts his arm around her. You know you did the right thing.

And, yet, you regret it. You really do. In fact, nearly 25 years later, after a marriage, a divorce, and a child, you still regret not kissing that girl on the bench swing under the full moon.