Goodbye BFF
Why don't I miss her? We were self-declared best friends for over twenty years. Often mistaken for sisters, we had an easy comfort with each other that strangers often commented on and seemed to envy. So, I wonder is it the memory of her husband lunging across a table to attack my son for daring to voice political views he didn't like that keeps me from missing her? No, not really. I've been around for a while, and to be honest I've forgiven other people for equally horrible behavior in the past. Is it the fact that neither she nor her rage powered spouse ever thought to apologize that makes her absence from my life inconsequential. No, see my previous comment about forgiving the seemingly unforgivable at times.
It's the relief from her friendship that keeps me from crying, moaning or missing her. Like the low grade headache you don't notice until the aspirin kicks in, or the weird relief you get from finally throwing up, I feel lighter and healthier without my former best friend. There are no more digs at my intellect these days. Once when I was unemployed, unlike recommendations to our other friends with college degrees, she suggested I get a job as a maid or cafeteria worker. Nor will there be any more pointed remarks about how she'll make time to read some of my fiction if I "ever get around to writing something G-rated or for YA readers," because she just can't take promiscuous prose. For twenty plus years I never called her on her sanctimonious attitude towards me or the rest of the world. I ignored the condescending way she spoke to me and everyone around us, and turned a blind eye to the way she used me for a 24-7 life and career adviser while remaining unavailable to me much of the time. Her time was cashmere; mine was cheap polyester. And so I recognize it, one of the classical romance cliches, I was in love with the IDEA of a life-long best friend. The reality is like shaking a two decade bout of the flu, and I don't miss that feeling--or her.
It's the relief from her friendship that keeps me from crying, moaning or missing her. Like the low grade headache you don't notice until the aspirin kicks in, or the weird relief you get from finally throwing up, I feel lighter and healthier without my former best friend. There are no more digs at my intellect these days. Once when I was unemployed, unlike recommendations to our other friends with college degrees, she suggested I get a job as a maid or cafeteria worker. Nor will there be any more pointed remarks about how she'll make time to read some of my fiction if I "ever get around to writing something G-rated or for YA readers," because she just can't take promiscuous prose. For twenty plus years I never called her on her sanctimonious attitude towards me or the rest of the world. I ignored the condescending way she spoke to me and everyone around us, and turned a blind eye to the way she used me for a 24-7 life and career adviser while remaining unavailable to me much of the time. Her time was cashmere; mine was cheap polyester. And so I recognize it, one of the classical romance cliches, I was in love with the IDEA of a life-long best friend. The reality is like shaking a two decade bout of the flu, and I don't miss that feeling--or her.
No comments have been added yet.
