Thursday night, I had coffee with my friend, May*.
She and I have known each other since middle school, when I was a lowly B cup who wore baggy shirts to hide them and she was the school star in just about every subject and sport. Throughout high school and college we’ve gradually grown further apart geographically, but we’ve never lost touch. Nowadays, while she’s far away on the other side of the country, we schedule little Skype sessions to catch each other up on the miniscule happenings in our lives.
That day before Christmas Eve, we sat across from each other, on the edges of our seats at Starbucks. I blew onto my caramel apple spice while she left the top of her peppermint hot chocolate to let it cool. We laughed over how just about nothing had changed since we were 12; we’re still staying with our parents, unemployed, broke, and incapable of driving on our own for lack of cars.
In between the deprecating giggles, we took turns observing the little things that had changed: one of our girlfriends becoming engaged, me dropping 10 lbs, her going from blond to brunette from clear lack of sunlight, our siblings going to college (meaning we’re getting older), and the general amazement that we have the rest of our lives ahead of us. She told me about an awful houseguest she had a few weeks ago who brought her five days of living hell, and I subsequently shared my “experiences” with Cici and Annie. Afterwards, we both came to the conclusion that perhaps it’s probably best to let really close friends in as houseguests; otherwise you really end up hating and resenting them by the end of their stay.
Inevitably we talked about our boy prospects. This was a rough year for the both of us, having gone through our heart-wrenching breakups that left us looking like mental patients, curled on the floor, rocking back and forth and crying inconsolably.
Despite this, we’ve both attempted to make moves towards moving on in our own ways. May has gone out, making an effort to socialize more in a town that she doesn’t really know a lot of people in. It’s a great way to live, throwing plans to the wind (but with an added amount of caution that neither Cici nor Annie utilized while they visited me) and generally enjoying yourself for the opportunities and people life happens to throw your way. In what I view to be a very brave and courageous move, she’s also started semi-quasi-“dating” a few guys.
Considering how much damage her last relationship did to her, it’s ballsy as fuck.
And I’m jealous of that, her single-minded goal to shrug off the shroud of depression and general “ick”-ness of her last relationship and push through to (hopefully) a better future with (likely a better) someone else.
I wish I was capable of doing the same, to put the past where it belongs and stop letting it get to me like it inevitably does when I have too much time to think. But I know I’m not ready for that yet. The way I see it, I’ve still gotta clear the rubble before I can even think of rebuilding.
Afterwards, we hashed about the trouble younger siblings give us when our parents don’t employ the discipline that’s so desperately needed. May told me about the stress of studying for the MCAT, while I admitted losing a lot of my enthusiasm for finding a job after being rejected within 10 minutes of applying, and together we talked a lot about old friends we wished we could see. It was sweet and fun and I didn’t realize then that I genuinely missed having my old friends in the same city and being able to see and talk with them in person. It was a lovely reunion and I hope I can have more of them soon.
*name changed although I'm just getting really lazy at trying to be clever about hiding people's identities
Written 12/25/10
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