My Friend Anna

by Rachel DeLoache Williams

Anna also appealed to a certain part of me, and not necessarily the best part. Because of her, I was often late for things, I drank too much, and I neglected other friendships. I felt proud that Anna liked me, but was it possible, at the same time, to feel subconsciously ashamed?

The hardest obstacles to overcome were deep within myself: irrational loyalty, compassion, and passivity—collectively these were forms of self-sacrifice. Where did they come from? And how did they mark me? As naive? Damaged? Oh, how I hated the sensitive part of me that continued to make excuses for Anna, this person who had willfully dragged me through hell. Except it was this same sensitivity that set me and Anna apart. Even if empathy was partially to blame for my predicament, I had no wish to be without it. It was a weakness, but it was also a strength. I saw fellow people where Anna saw only pawns.

when I became collateral damage, she had made zero effort to protect me. Quite the opposite, she used me as her shield. Her selfishness was hard-wired, and because of it she made that choice. Was she sorry? Yes, but sorry like a child who had broken her favorite toy. She used me up and was sorry when I was gone—not sorry for my anguish but sorry for her loss.

With every hour we spent together, her power grew. Where I felt connection, she felt control. Before I knew it, I was coming to rely on her. After Morocco, all that remained was a void—my life, hollow; her promises, empty; our friendship, without meaning.

I felt the loss of Anna, not as she was but as I had once perceived her to be. When I lost that, I lost a part of myself. When I became disillusioned with my friend, I became disillusioned with my faith in the innate goodness of all people.

I never went to Joan’s on Third for lunch, so why bother pretending that I had? Was I afraid that she would discover my involvement in her arrest? Most definitely. But that wasn’t the only reason. As Anna had done with me, I wanted her to believe my lie.