This week’s post is a response to Prompt #2: I miss the friend you used to be. (The Myth Of You And Me) It’s certainly not the first time I’ve blogged about this friendship. I can’t imagine it will be the last.
Once upon a time, there was a tone-deaf jazz afficionado from the Big Easy, a Southern daughter of a Jewish lawyer, a young woman with a heart as big as the Gulf, with laughter and appetite enough to swallow up a New Englander like me.
That young woman took herself off into the heart of Vermont. I met her as Autumn snapped cool, and she shivered.
Wait ’til it snows, we said. She was undaunted.
She could roar, laugh, drink, dance, write, and love with reckless abandon. Her secret self? Tender and vulnerable. Loyal to the point of fierceness.
Once upon a time she was my friend. Once upon a time she was my college roommate.
She moved to Spain a few years after graduation, to study Spanish literature, theatre, and poetry. She taught English at night to pay the bills. She married one of her students, who picked up and relocated to the States with her when it was time for her to go (And yes, it was far more complicated than that, but the real process? Sounds less mythic and romantic.). She was that magnetic.
I hope she still is.
But I don’t know. Because she has shut me out of her life, away from her light. For a long while, I wondered about what I had–or had not–done to lose her. Now that I am more sure that I did nothing explicitly wrong, I actually worry more. Why have we all been cast adrift–those of us who all love her?
Ten years ago, I imagined us getting together with our families, introducing our children to one another. They were, I suppose, the naive daydreams of a 23 year old who can’t imagine that all of her friendships won’t survive.
Now? I dream of her, and the dreams always end with her warm embrace, unforgotten by my subconscious.