She will land this evening in LaGuardia and the flurry will begin soon thereafter: Blackberry messages and backless dresses and lists at doors and late brunches complete with mimosas (“Hair of the dog, Clink. Drink up”).
We met in London, developed a mutual girl crush over pints at Kavanaugh’s, right off of Manson Place. We complemented each other nicely in those days: both tall, both slim, both Bohemian chic. She was the brunette, I was the blonde. Identical versions of each other, just pick which hair color and outfit you prefer. Like Barbie dolls.
The height of our friendship was in London. Having no responsibilities suited us well. Swank bars, shady after-hours lounges, ending up at 4am in a trust fund purchased apartment in Chelsea with men who were raised by nannies in Manhattan and didn’t have straight answers to the question “so what do you do?”
We saw something in each other, a mutual goal that bound us at the hip and sent us out into the night - lots of skin, tasteful make-up, tousled hair, high heels. All in pursuit of a drink, a bar, a man, an experience that would make us feel fabulous. Make us feel less like boring, educated, well-adjusted, advantaged daughters of upper middle class homes and more like the mysterious fashionistas we idolized.
Back in the States, things changed. She went off to Los Angeles (“I look better with a tan, Clink”) and lost herself further. She sent photos of herself with celebrities. She signed her emails “kisses, darling,” used the word “fab,” developed a penchant for coke and incessantly complained to my voice mail about not being able to find a man.
I stayed in New York and found myself. I realized that the girl I was in London was a façade. I had been aiming for a status I didn’t even want which is something I recognized the first time I set foot in a much-touted Meatpacking hotspot and saw right through everyone there. There are still swank bars on occasion – lots of skin and high heels, even. But there are most certainly no lists and no coke and no hands of boys with trust funds down my pants in the closed kitchen of a restaurant. Not anymore.
Her being back after four years induces butterflies in my stomach, in my chest. A walking, talking, name-dropping warning sign of what I could have become, of the track I had committed myself to.
I love her, because I know who she is when the Chloe top and Hollywould shoes come off. I know who she is in her pajamas, watching DeGrassi, eating Ben & Jerry’s Half-Baked out of the carton, giggling, announcing which character she would’ve been in high school (the chunky one, Liberty, with the glasses and the smarts and the insecurity).
I just wish she’d allow Liberty to creep back into her life more often.
once fatties get skinny, they scorn the fatties. also, people in LA are insane.
Degrassi!!!! I probably had some Liberty qualities too, minus the whole getting-knocked-up-by-JT thing. Liberty in the beginning, with some Hazel by the time I graduated.
I stumbled into your site by mistake, but then I read your clever prose and I had to stay for a while. It’s odd, but I also had a friend with whom I was very close. We were the same person for a long time, but he stayed behind when I grew up. I always envied his playboy life of wine, women and song. I spoke with him the other day and he said the strangest thing, he wishes he had my life of wife, kids and mortgage. I would never trade, even though it’s fun to consider. There is a song with the same title as your blog. I think it is by The Postal Service? The lyrics speak about two people being mirror images of one another. Maybe like us and our friends.
wait.
that’s a postal service song?
manson place? WOW. I lived there for a semester in college. Can’t recall which unit. but we were in the one with the balcony overlooking the street. Oh, the memories… South Ken tube stop, cavanaughs around the corner, breakfast (when i was sober enough to want to eat) from hart’s the grocer.
yep it is a postal service tune…. and clink, are you alive??
Here’s hoping that the hair of the dog is helping and not hurting.
(How’s that for a tongue twister??? cripes!)
I heart Degrassi, new school & old school. I was more like Emma with a splash of Ashley (at least when I was 16).
But I digress. It’s always hard when you and your ace choose different paths. Hopefully, a little bit of Liberty oozes out of her and you guys could connect on some level.
This was beautifully written. I think every girl has one person in their life like this: hiding behind a thick veneer of insecurity disguised as confidence.