Be Fri st ends

While I was home for Christmas, I spent one afternoon going through the armoire that used to stand in my childhood bedroom. It was a task I approached with some trepidation. As I am both sentimental and a packrat, I knew it was full of keepsakes that would bring back memories both fond and bittersweet.

The armoire didn’t disappoint. I found the mousetrap car I built in middle school and the incense burner that my dad and I scoured the Antique Warehouse looking for. There was the film canister full of sand that my 8^th-grade love interest brought me back from the Cayman Islands, and dried flowers from every dance, play, and wedding I went to during my teens. One small box brought tears to my eyes when I opened it to discover Mancala pennies, a lake rock, and a piece of foam from a mattress I slept on during countless weekends with my cousins at our lakeside cabin.

But it was the jewelry that really caught me off guard. In the tangle of chains and cords, I found no less than eight best-friends necklaces, none of which had been taken out or worn in at least seven years. And if the sheer number weren’t enough, I was devastated to realize that I had no idea who had the other half of some of them. Some I recognized immediately, and a few more my sister and mom were able to help me identify. But there are two that I still don’t remember.

When I looked at any of those unidentified necklaces, I couldn’t help but wonder about the other person. Does she still have the necklace, or did she throw it out years ago? Does she remember that I have the other half? Even if her half of the necklace is long gone, does she remember that she once called me her best friend? Or has she forgotten me and the necklace the same way I have forgotten her? I wasn’t sure either answer to that last question would make me feel better.

The whole experience has got me thinking a lot about friendship, and especially about this whole nebulous and vague notion of best friendship. Clearly, I was infatuated with the idea of a best friend when I was younger. I always wanted to have one. But did I ever really have one? Even though I remember six of the eight necklaces, I have not spoken to any of those girls in years. In fact, there is not a single person from high school or before that I am still in contact with. Does that mean that the friendships I had during that time were insignificant? That they weren’t really friendships?

After a lot of reflection, I decided that the answers to that question was no. Those friends were good for me at the time. And though, in some cases, I regret not making the effort to stay in touch, I don’t believe that diminishes the value of the time we spent as friends. The thing I had to admit, however, was that in my almost 26 years I had yet to learn how to make a friendship last. And while I didn’t really believe that made me a bad person, it did make me sad because of its implications. It seemed inevitable that the friends in my life now would eventually fade out.

Luckily, before I even made it back to Chicago, another experience made me change my mind. I stopped in Kalamazoo, where I did my undergrad, to have lunch with two of my closest friends from college. We met at our favorite pizza place, gouged on the best cheesy bread ever made, and talked about both our time in college and what we are doing now. It was a lot of fun.

But it wasn’t the meeting itself that got me thinking again. It was the way we said goodbye. We walked out to our cars, gave each other a brief hug and a “drive safe,” and left. It was all very abrupt, really. It was not the type of goodbye you’d expect to say to a people you won’t see again for at least a year. It was the kind of comfortable, painless goodbye you’d say to a roommate or significant other when you left for work in the morning.

I thought about that as I drove the rest of the way back to the city, and I had to smile to myself. Goodbyes for the day are comfortable and painless because both people are blessed with a certainty that they will see each other again. I have that same kind of certainty with Alyson and Aaron. Of course, I miss them when long periods of time pass between meetings, but I know the time will come when we’ll see each other again.

So, I do have at least a couple of friendships that I believe will last. Perhaps not for my whole life, and perhaps not even until I’m 30, but at least through this part of my life. It took me until I was in college, but in the end I apparently did figure out how to make a friendship survive gaps in time and geography.

Does the fact that it took me until college bother me? Not really. I’m thankful for all the friends I had in childhood and high school, and I’m sorry to have forgotten a few that I once considered my best friends. But I am far removed from my hometown and the person I was in high school, and the friends that were good for me then likely would not be good for me now. Indeed, I probably would not be the best friend for them, either.

In the end, I kept all of the necklaces, even the ones I couldn’t identify. They’re in an envelope in a drawer in my closet. I expect that I will rediscover them again someday. I may remember all of them by that time, or I may remember even fewer. My only hope is that when the owners of the other halves of those necklaces discover their halves, they’ve said enough painless goodbyes lately to make sure they aren’t distressed if they don’t remember me.