There was a time I would have killed for her. At the end, I mostly just wanted to kill her.
I met her right when high school started, in gym class. She muttered something to herself, and in my dorky way I made a less-than-witty comeback. She quirked a brow, I extended my hand, and thus we became pretty much inseparable during those high school years. Due to her own family issues, she even moved in with me and my family, so she felt more like my sister than simply my friend. “Joined at the hip,” some called us. “Two peas in a pod,” said others. We shared clothes, hairbrushes, even makeup! But not boyfriends. Never boyfriends. Our tastes were too different, and that was a good thing.
In that regard at least.
She considered herself a “wild child” while I was … not. Not then anyway, but I learned a lot from her. She was pretty rebellious, prone to running away (which is how she came to live with me), and into drugs. Lots of high school kids in the 70s were, even me, to some extent.
Yeah, I learned a lot from her.
In the end, she even rebelled against me. Because she was my friend, and it was because of me that she even lived with us, my mother decided I had to be responsible for her. I didn’t like being in that position, and she liked it even less, so we fought and she was gone.
And that was that.
I looked her up on FaceBook a while back, just to see if there was anything to see. Sometimes people cross my mind.
It was kind of funny and kind of weird because she seemed exactly the same to me as she was in high school, like some kind of time warp. And as I read her profile, I realized we have absolutely nothing in common. I wondered if we ever did. She is still a “wild child” and I’m still not. What did we talk about all those years ago, besides how much we “couldn’t stand the ‘rents”? Was our friendship based on nothing more than proximity, and drugs? Her life seems to have followed the path that everyone predicted it would take. She made her choices and lives with the consequences, it would seem.
As we all do, I suppose.
I wept such bitter, angry, heartbroken tears when our friendship ended. I felt like I would never have another friend as close to me as she was. Such is the drama in the lives of 17 year old girls.
I look back and wonder if that friendship was mostly a misperception on my part. We were really friends or just convenient? What was I crying over, really?
She’s a stranger to me.
Maybe she always was.
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