It’s a scary thing when you sit down to watch a frothy episode of The Hills, expecting to roll your eyes at Heidi and covet something Whitney is wearing like you always do, and instead you find yourself able to…relate.Last night’s episode (for those of you above watching MTV’s teen-skewed primetime line up, to which I say BOY YOU ARE MISSING OUT) featured Lauren’s childhood best friend Jen hooking up with a guy Lauren had recently dated, a coupling egged on by Lauren’s other best friend, Heidi. Lauren was, understandably, pissed off. That situation has happened, in one form or another, to all women everywhere: the Girl Code (do not make out/date/marry/be impregnated by anyone whom one of your girlfriends has made out with/dated/married/been impregnated by), broken.My 18 year old self could certainly relate to the specifics, but my 25 year old self could much better relate to the bigger picture: the breakdown of a friendship, for one reason or another.
I guess I’ve always been overly optimistic about my friendships. I tend to choose my close friends carefully and thus just assume that the relationship is subsequently built for longevity. My mother still keeps in regular contact with the friends she played stickball with on the street in Brooklyn and I guess I always assumed my close friendships – collected in elementary school, junior high school, high school and college – would follow suit.
For the most part, that has been true. But, in addition to the fact that my closest friend from high school can’t get over being shut out of my life while I was depressed, some of my other friendships have morphed to the point that perhaps ‘friendship’ is no longer an accurate description. In addition to feeling saddened and nostalgic for the past, I’m also frustrated. I feel like a bit of a failure.
For example, I lived with Tia for three out of our four years in college. We had our ups (the whole ‘being there for each other’ thing) and downs (her boyfriend had a proclivity toward drinking much and then vomiting all over our dorm) and, yes, she would drive me crazy at times but I never thought we wouldn’t be friends.
Until, of course, we weren’t.
It happened slowly over time. We both moved to Manhattan, albeit opposite ends. She took a corporate job, complete with a six figure starting salary and a suit-based wardrobe while I started in TV, with a meager executive assistant’s paycheck and a uniform based around jeans. We kept in touch sporadically – mussels in her neighborhood, a film at the Angelicka. We were no longer living together so it was understood and accepted – mutually, unsaid - that we’d no longer be such a big part of each other’s lives.
At the time I was single and she was (and is) still with Vomit Boy. That meant a lot of fitting me in around when she wasn’t seeing him. It bothered me a bit, that I was only important enough to see when he was working late, but I’m not so naïve as to think that a significant other in a friend’s life doesn’t mean things will change.
Enter M. Suddenly, the tables turned a bit and I was no longer at her beck and call, ready to meet her for drinks at a moment’s notice if suddenly Vomit Boy was going out with ‘the boys’ (he is so one of those men who believes in his right to boys night out, complete with high end strippers and expensed meals). Suddenly I had a fledging relationship and therefore a different set of priorities.
All of a sudden, I got called out for being a different person. It was taken out not only on me but also on M – whenever they were in the same room, Tia would give M the cold shoulder, would respond with one word answers to his questions. I wrote about this (and the equally reprehensible behavior of her twin sister) back in August, but it still bothers me.
I try, I really do. Just last week she wrote me an email and noted the “pronounced lack of Clink” in her life as of late. I shot her back an email immediately, wanting to know if she wanted to grab dinner this week, set something in stone. I made sure to note that I had just started a new job and had been a bit busy, nothing intentional. No response. Just today I emailed her again and gently asked her to please not make me feel guilty if she wasn’t even going to respond when I made an effort. I still haven’t heard back, even though I know she’s probably at her computer in her big corporate office, fuming.
For the majority of college and after – as long as she’s known me – I’d been in rather casual relationships. Nothing even approaching the magnitude or intensity of what M and I have. She liked “single” me. I was always there for her, ready to support her, and as a bonus I could always keep her entertained by sharing my hilarious tales of casual dating. Now that I’m no longer – thank god – that person, she can’t handle it. She hides her true feelings under the guise of “I don’t think M is right for you,” (M treats me better than her own boyfriend treats her and he makes me unbelievably happy – what is ‘not right’ about that?), but I know the truth. I lived with her for three years. There’s not much she can get past me.
Our relationship as it stands – as you could probably deduce from the email exchange – is strained. Her making me feel guilty, me jumping to make her feel better and then me realizing that I really have nothing to feel guilty about. My life has change and therefore I have changed and why in the hell would I want to be friends with someone who wants to keep me continually boxed in the confines of who I was when she met me. Someone who is offended when I grow, instead of happy. It hurts – of course it does. And between Tia and my friend from high school, I’m beginning to wonder if it’s me. In fact, I’m constantly wondering if it’s me. Or even if it’s M.
Luckily, I have the good sense to know myself and know that I’m a good person and an even better friend. It’s not me. It’s not M. Maybe it’s not even Tia. Maybe it’s just life. This is life. Some friendships – whether made on the street corner in 1960’s Brooklyn or in college – endure. Some don’t. Everyone moves on.
I’m not so good at that moving on part. But I’m getting there.
