I Still Have a Friend
I wrote this a year ago and I still love it.
Usually on this blog I’m ranting about something. Or complaining. Or whining. I woeing. Looking back at some of the archives, I come across as being really amazingly…well, frumpy. But today I have a new kind of problem. It’s actually interesting that I even remotely find it a problem. It’s just that…well, I have this friend who just makes my life a little more worth living and I’m not sure what to do with it.
My friend, as so many do, just came out of nowhere. Through the most random series of events, I found this person. Actually, maybe this person found me. I can never be sure exactly how to mark the beginning of a friendship. Do you go back to the moment you met? Was it that time you had that first conversation that, upon leaving, made you think, “Oh…I’ve got to get to know this person better.” Is it that first time that you weather a fight with each other together, that moment of return when you can feel that even though everything will not be the same ever again that what is to come will be just as good. No, probably better? I guess it doesn’t really matter; I can trace the linear path of this friendship but I think that’s a stupid game. Life is not linear and neither are relationships.
So anyway, over time this friend has made quite an impression, as so many friends do. But not just the normal kind of impression. It’s an indentation, really. There now exists a space that was not there before, that I usually do not recognize and have no idea how to tend. Sometimes it’s the most wonderful, beautiful indentation a girl could have. Other times, it hurts, aches even, and I loathe it. This space that once was solely mine now has an indentation that I’ve come to learn will exist as it will. I only have so much control. And it will always be there now. If something heads south, it will become a scar all shiny and leathery looking. But it’s there for good now. And I love that. And it scares me.
And maybe that’s where “my problem” comes in. I worry about this indentation. I worry that it might take up too much room, that I’ve become too accustomed to it, that time will only warp it. I’m not going to lie; it’s a nicely appointed indentation. I want to protect it, keep in tidy, maybe drape some nice plastic on it to avoid spillage and staining. If I had a curio cabinet, it might be nice there. That’s how I feel. But I know that won’t ever work. I have to let this space be what it will and know that there’s only so much I can do to control it. The rest is up to my friend who form-fitted it. Who I allowed to form fit it. And who really gave me no choice in the matter. And I love that. And that scares me too.
So there’s my problem. At this moment, I feel too loved, too lucky, too unworthy. I can feel the other shoe just hanging precariously somewhere, It’ll drop. And I fear that moment. The one in which this will all end and I’m left with a shiny, leather scar of an indentation that will be empty and tinny sounding in there. But I have to let this space be what it will. And maybe, just maybe, it’ll always ring clearly and sweetly. And that’s what I hope for. And I love that.
So who’s the friend?
Probably you.