When I was between ten and thirteen years old, my best friend and I were inseparable. We did everything together. We slept over at each other's houses every weekend, sometimes several days in a row, if our mother's would let us, during summer vacation. We tried to wear the same, or similar outfits. "I'm wearing the red shorts with the white stripe. Are you going to wear yours, too?" "Yeah." "Good."
We both loved unicorns and the color purple. We wore purple eye shadow, purple nail polish, purple lipstick. This was back in 1980-1983, when those colors were okay to wear on our faces. We both bought knockoff Walkmans from Mr. D's dollar store, for $5, when Walkmans first entered the scene.
I remember putting those headphones on for the first time ever and absolutely reeling with the sensation of music flowing right to the center of my head, to swirl and dance there. I was standing in Katie's yard in my new bathing suit, the sides cinched up high past my thigh to my hip bones, as was the fashion. Katie's new bathing suit was quietly "borrowed" from her older sister, and quite a bit more risque than mine. We felt adult and poweful, filled with the potential of our budding sexuality, even though we both had to still pull down our bras in the front as they crept upward, not held in place by much of anything.
Before I met Katie, there was another girl I was acquainted with. Marci and I weren't really friends. We bumped into each other occasionally, living in different neighborhoods, and hooked up now and again to play together. I had problems with Marci. She was bossy and a little mean. As an only child until I was ten-and-a-half, I didn't learn how to assert and defend myself until well after I had married at age 28, so dealing with Marci was often painful and I did not pursue her friendship very often.
When Katie and I were in seventh grade together, I ran into Marci at our middle school. It had been some years since I'd seen her last, so being the nice girl that I was, I thought things could be different now. Hanging out with Marci didn't seem to be as difficult as I had remembered it to be. In fact, I was rather enjoying her company. I introduced her to Katie, and the three of us became fast friends.
It didn't take long before Marci began doing things alone with me, or with Katie, rather than as a threesome. Soon, the close friendship I had with Katie began to deteriorate. Marci had started telling me Katie was saying bad things about me, which I refused to believe. I wondered why Katie wasn't calling me anymore, and when Katie finally returned one of my phone calls, I surprised to hear that she was angry at me. She said Marci had told her I'd said something terrible about Katie. And it wasn't true. I repeated the things Marci had told me Katie had said about me. They weren't true, either. By the end of the call, we both decided we weren't going to hang out with Marci anymore, much less believe anything she said about the other, that we would tell each other anything she might have said.
I hung up thinking our friendship was saved, and very much disturbed about Marci. She was still mean and bossy, and now she seemed to be deliberately driving a wedge between me and my best friend.
Shortly after that phone call came my thirteenth birthday. It was the summer of 1983, and we were entering eighth grade, our final year of middle school before starting high school. I don't remember why, but for some reason I was celebrating my birthday alone with my parents, without Katie. I think Katie had told me she had other plans. My mom had taken me to the hair dresser to get one of those curly perms that were so popular in the days of HBOs erotic aerobicize ladies. My hair wasn't quite long enough to allow the perm to hang correctly, so I looked more like Li'l Orphan Annie than I did one of those sexy aerobics women.
As I floated around my house in the cloud of ammonia that emanated from my head, waiting for something to happen, there came a knock at the front door. When I opened it, I was surprised to see Katie and Marci standing there together. They were very rude to me, cold, teasing me about my hair.
That Katie and Marci were together was not according to plan. It worried me, and judging from their behavior, I could only assume Marci had said something really devastating to Katie to turn her against me. When they turned to leave, I closed the door behind them and cried, confused and deeply hurt by their nastiness. My mother comforted me, telling me she was sorry about Katie, but she had never like Marci and maybe now I would understand I was better off without her. It was a lesson hard-learned.
When school started a few weeks later, I deeply mourned the loss of Katie's friendship. I tried many times to find out what had turned her against me, but she wouldn't talk to me at all. In fact, it confuses and bewilders me to this day. I'd made other friends and developed new interests, and it wasn't long before Katie was replaced by a new best friend. But even through high school, even after the death of Katie's father and the note my family and I had sent her in sympathy, Katie refused to give me the time of day.
Though I wasn't a bit surprised, it was small consolation to see that Katie's and Marci's friendship did not survive long into high school. By that time, I had a large circle of friends, was active in choir, piano, theatre and enjoyed discovering the world of boyfriends and staying out late and sneaking into midnight showings of Rocky Horror.
I never heard from Katie again, but I still think about her. About fifteen years ago, a mutual acquaintance told me that she was getting her teacher's certificate, possibly in special ed. I begged our friend to please pass on my good will to Katie, half hoping I would hear something in return. I never did.
I wonder what Katie is up to now. Her friendship was so profound to me that even at nearly 36 years old, I have trouble entirely letting go of her memory. For some reason, she's been on my mind a lot the last few weeks, and I've even considered writing a note to her mother to say hello and to please pass on my greeting.
Last night, as I was getting ready for bed, it occured to me that the time is drawing near that I might finally be able to forgive Marci, who was obviously a troubled young lady. The severing of my friendship with Katie has left a hole in my heart for nearly twenty-five years, and think it's mostly because the reason behind it has never been resolved.
Should I contact Katie's mother? Would I be beating a dead horse? Is there a deeper reason why Katie has been on my mind so much for the first time in many years? Is it time to reconcile only long enough to communicate what happened and put old ghosts to rest? Is she as troubled as I sometimes am over what happened?
What would you do?
