Collectible Friends

She lived her life as if it was a flea market. She bought and sold her time as if it was a cheap, shiny piece of costume jewelry. She bartered with her body, as if it was a nickel or a quarter to be exchanged. She haggled with every one she met, wheeling and dealing with every stranger she spoke with. She sifted through the dross of humanity, searching for those rare and valuable collectibles that always seemed to be found at the bottom of a bin or buried beneath the junk. She searched her entire life for the one thing that could make her life seem more than a babble of noise and a crush of people and a gritty exchange of currency. As if searching through the bins at a flea market, hoping to find a treasure amidst all the junk, she searched for friends.

The Life of a Friendship

They had nothing to say to each other.  Years of saying too much had caused irreparable rifts in the fabric of their friendship, but the latest tear had finally severed it.  It had started when they were very young.  The occasional stealing of a toy behind the other’s back, the occasional smack that earned them time outs in opposing chairs. By grade school, it had moved on to nasty comments behind backs.  They always came back to each other though.  It was a sort of love-hate friendship back then. 

In high school, they were close.  They did most things together and seemed to have outgrown the backstabbing and meanness that had decorated their childhood.  They shared the sorts of secrets many teenage girls will share.  They proclaimed themselves “Friends Forever” and promised to keep in touch. 

In their twenties, they rarely found time for each other.  They had gone their separate ways after school had ended.  One to college out West and one to vocational school close to home.  Although they wrote letters and talked on the phone, neither could quite understand the other’s life.  Innocently, one would make hurtful comments which would lead to the other declaring the friendship dead.  After a few months, they’d cool off and call each other again.  They never did discuss why they’d forgotten to call for months at a time.

 In their thirties, they were once again living in the same town, just by chance.  They’d both moved back home to start their families.  They had children about the same age, so it was natural for them to try again to be close.  This time, the friendship had to survive the whims of the children.  When one child was mean to the other, it was up to the moms to break it up.  Sometimes, the mother of the wrongdoer would blindly deny that her child had done anything wrong.  It was a silent bruise on their friendship, that one would question the word of the other over the word of a child trying to avoid punishment. Also in their thirties, one divorced.  This led to a new dimension in the friendship.  It was ok until one day; the married one came home to find her friend having sex with her husband.  The tear from that fight was almost enough to rend the friendship, but still some threads hung on.   

The mortal wound that finally ended things was when they ran into each other at the grocery store one day.  They got to talking and one asked about the other’s children.  After some polite chit chat, including some comments comparing their kids, they both fell silent.   

They just stood there, in the grocery aisle, each holding on to a cart.  Neither had a thing to say. They’d finally run out of words, neither could think of any more small talk even.  They had just run out of words.  Like two strangers who find they have nothing in common, these two women who had shared a lifetime, suddenly walked away from each other.  They never bothered to say goodbye.

 

 

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