LJ Idol Week 5: “My enemies are all too familiar. They're the ones who used to call me friend.”
Do you ever think of me? I’m embarrassed to admit that after all these years, I still think of you regularly. Sometimes it’s a song we used to belt out as the wind whipped through our hair while we drove through the night. Sometimes it’s a silver SUV passing me in a parking lot. Sometimes it’s two girls, one tall and one short, walking in the distance laughing at something that isn’t nearly as funny to anyone else.
Do you remember the first time we met? I was so nervous. Did I ever confess to you that I’d noticed you in class before we lived across the hall from each other?
We stayed up late writing our scripts for film class. I helped you with accounting and you helped me with poetry. As we stood on the porch so you could smoke another cigarette, you confessed that you’d cheated on your boyfriend. When he found out and broke up with you, I was the one who assured you that you were more than just his girlfriend.
You invited me to a party one night. When I insisted that I did not have anything to wear, you threw open your closet door, rummaged inside, and tossed me a little black dress. You carefully curled my hair and lightly swept eyeshadow across my eyelids.
“Is that one line or two?” you’d asked me holding up the stick for me to look. I held your hand as the doctor confirmed that you were, in fact, pregnant. I listened as you cried, “But my parents would disown me and then what would I do?” I made all the phone calls and filled out all the forms that you signed. It was my apartment where you curled up in a ball afterward and I awkwardly stood in the doorway, fearing that you’d never recover.
After we graduated, you helped me move and got me a job at the drive-ins with you. I pictured you standing next to me as I said “I do.” I expected our children to play as we sat a few feet away laughing.
But then one day, the day after a seemingly innocuous party, you disappeared. Did you realize that you took all of my friends with you? Did that matter?
What did you think when I continued to call? When you’d listen to my voicemails and read my texts begging for you to talk to me, to let me know what I’d done so that I could fix it?
A few years later, you finally answered. I managed to swallow the lump in my throat and ask why you cut me out of your life so abruptly. You chuckled nervously and said, “I don’t know, really. The only thing I remember is that you were going around telling everyone how much you loved them, but you didn’t say anything to me.” I couldn’t find the courage to say it then, but how did you not know that I loved you, that I loved you more than anyone?
Do you remember the first time we met? I was so nervous. Did I ever confess to you that I’d noticed you in class before we lived across the hall from each other?
We stayed up late writing our scripts for film class. I helped you with accounting and you helped me with poetry. As we stood on the porch so you could smoke another cigarette, you confessed that you’d cheated on your boyfriend. When he found out and broke up with you, I was the one who assured you that you were more than just his girlfriend.
You invited me to a party one night. When I insisted that I did not have anything to wear, you threw open your closet door, rummaged inside, and tossed me a little black dress. You carefully curled my hair and lightly swept eyeshadow across my eyelids.
“Is that one line or two?” you’d asked me holding up the stick for me to look. I held your hand as the doctor confirmed that you were, in fact, pregnant. I listened as you cried, “But my parents would disown me and then what would I do?” I made all the phone calls and filled out all the forms that you signed. It was my apartment where you curled up in a ball afterward and I awkwardly stood in the doorway, fearing that you’d never recover.
After we graduated, you helped me move and got me a job at the drive-ins with you. I pictured you standing next to me as I said “I do.” I expected our children to play as we sat a few feet away laughing.
But then one day, the day after a seemingly innocuous party, you disappeared. Did you realize that you took all of my friends with you? Did that matter?
What did you think when I continued to call? When you’d listen to my voicemails and read my texts begging for you to talk to me, to let me know what I’d done so that I could fix it?
A few years later, you finally answered. I managed to swallow the lump in my throat and ask why you cut me out of your life so abruptly. You chuckled nervously and said, “I don’t know, really. The only thing I remember is that you were going around telling everyone how much you loved them, but you didn’t say anything to me.” I couldn’t find the courage to say it then, but how did you not know that I loved you, that I loved you more than anyone?