I don't know if I ever told you this, but when I was 11 or 12 years old, my best friend Nicole found me waiting in line at our Elementary school's Haunted House, walked straight up to me, and SLAPPED THE SHIT OUT OF ME, out of nowhere. She slapped me in front of the entire school and walked away without saying a word. At first, I was stunned, trying to process what just happened. I heard my PE teacher saying, "Are you ok?" as I looked around to see who else had just seen what had happened; some kids were laughing and whispering to each other. Wondering what I had done to her to cause her to do that. I wondered, too. As my PE teacher walked me over to a bench, my mind raced, trying to pinpoint what I had done to cause this. I was so humiliated and sad in equal measure. My God, what had I done?!
For days, I tried calling, but she was "never home," according to her mom. She lived in my apartment complex, so I waited outside her door sometimes, but our paths didn't cross. Nicole never spoke to me after that day. I think about her from time to time. I still rack my brain to figure out what I did to be so unfairly abandoned by my best friend in such a ruthless manner. Because my brain is the way it is, it constantly tries to find the why of things. I think that's why I decided at one point that the reason my BFF slapped me across the face that day in front of the whole world must've been because she found out that I told a mutual neighborhood friend of ours that her mom used too much butter in her scrambled eggs and they were too wet and yucky. That must've been it, right? It's the only thing my kid brain could conceive of. There wasn't a long list of transgressions to choose from, considering I had adored my friend; we rarely got into fights, and I looked up to her because she was a year or two older than me. What did I do to make her hate me? I'll never really know. I never got an answer.
Now, three decades later, I find myself in a similar situation except without the physical violence. More of a metaphoric slap out of nowhere with no real answers, the humiliation and confusion feel eerily familiar.
I think about you every day.
Every single day, at some point, my brain tries to make sense of what happened between us.
I fluctuate between anger, hurt, and resignation. I wonder where it all went wrong. Was I really "abusive" towards you? Did you really cry to your therapist about me? What was I doing to you?
I don't know, you never said. You never brought it up or communicated those things to me before that day in July when the texts came in. You never gave me the chance to make it right. Instead, you hoarded every moment I failed your unvoiced expectations. You tucked them away until you amassed enough of them that you could feel validated in labeling me a bad friend in your mind. You stockpiled enough unvoiced resentments that you felt justified in your barrage of accusatory text messages. Text messages that came so hot and quick that I barely had a chance to read them, much less process them in any real way to form a rebuttal, to explain, to apologize?
You said so many mean and hurtful things in that one-sided exchange it's hard to keep them in order in my mind. How long had you felt this way? I had just seen you at your wedding two months prior, and while you seemed a little distracted, I figured it was just the natural state of a bride with 100 things going on. I had no idea that you had invited me to your destination wedding, allowed me to spend money on lodging and travel, and asked me to make a speech, all while harboring so much resentment toward me. Apparently, you and your fiance had already discussed what I would feel slighted by at your wedding. The answer: Nothing. The reason: because I didn't feel slighted by you, I loved you and missed you, and I was so happy to be there and celebrate you and your new love.
It's funny how two people can have two entirely different relationships with each other without the other knowing.
I still don't know what happened between us to end a friendship I thought would outlast everything and everyone else. I felt so safe with you. That trust is broken now. That’s the thing about best friend break ups. You know too much, things I never told anyone, insecurities, inquiries, thoughts, all of them I gave to you to hold and work through, and you ended up using some of those as ammo. The greatest betrayal of all.
You brought up my abandonment issues as evidence to your claim that I treated you like a “possession.” Admittedly, the day you told me you were moving to Dallas rocked my world, but after a 24-hour adjustment period, I quickly got on board and championed your new adventure every step of the way.
I now know you see that differently.
I can only guess that me sending you pics of me perched up against your old apt door signaled that I hadn't moved on, that I hated you for leaving or that I wanted you to remain stagnant in that time forever. But, I can tell you that's not the case, I just enjoyed walking by your old place and getting lost in the memories we shared in your loft. That loft on Freeman was my Third Place and you know it. I sent you those pictures to let you know that I was thinking of you and I missed you. I don't know why you chose to take it any other way. But it seems that you did.
I found a card you sent last year. I had it pinned to my whiteboard cuz I loved it so much. I loved having a best friend who sent me handwritten notes in the mail.
It made everything make even less sense somehow.
I re-read the texts, and there are so many twisted things in that correspondence it's hard to keep track of or expand on. The gist is a fallout due to miscommunication. Too many stories and not enough facts.
I know I’m not perfect. And I probably did send snarky texts here and there when I didn’t hear from you for a while. It’s hard for me to need people, and I guess I needed you. I needed to know you missed me as much as I missed you.
I wish you would’ve talked to me.
I wish you would’ve aired your grievances some other way. Through a phone call or over a drink.
I wish you would’ve given me the benefit of the doubt.
I’m trying to let go of the hurt. I’m trying to walk past your old place and not feel sadness but instead slip into the warmth and joy of the goofy, laughy, times we shared.
I’m trying to think of you less often. I’m trying to send love and light when I do.
I’m trying to listen to The National and form new memories around them. I don’t know why they remind me of you so much, maybe because only you got how 🔪🔪🔪 their lyrics are.
I listened to New Order T-shirt the other day, and the words took on new meaning. It made me think of you. A love letter to the memory of us in New York. You were the first friend I made here and whether you like it or not our time together in THIS city will always be my favorite.
Even though I left our last correspondence open-ended, the ball in your court, I don’t suspect I’ll ever hear from you again. I’m trying to make peace with that. In all honesty I don’t think we can rebound from what was said, how it was said, how it went down.
I’m trying to find the grace and gratitude in the time we shared before it all got distorted. I’m trying not to feel so mad at you for ending our friendship through the guise of “two women just living our lives” I’m trying. But in the meantime…
I keep what I can of you
Split-second glimpses and snapshots and sounds
You in a New Order t-shirt Christmas sweater
Holdin' a cat and a glass of beer champagne
I flicker through
I carry them with me like drugs in a pocket
You in a Kentucky aquarium Paris caféTalkin' to a shark in a corner, Crying over rainy days…
Be well,
Me.
so beautiful. so honest. real as fuck. i felt it in my original bones.