I’ve always been that kid. The one who, during nap-time, would roll other kids out of their cots in an attempt get them to play with me and the one who, when everyone else was laughing, made a joke about uterine chunks that killed the mood. (I killed the mood so hard it’s second cousin, by marriage, felt a little ill.) Of course I was always well intentioned, I just wanted to be friends, but good lord! I was obnoxious! I had difficulty with the finer points of such complex tasks as sharing, turn taking and listening.
Now, to be clear, this is not leading up to another sob story about how I had no friends and about how all of the other kids were terribly mean. In fact, in elementary school, I had a best friend!
Her name was Laura, she lived down the street from me and her family was Mormon. Her parents would not let her sleep over at my house, I can only assume it was because atheist’s houses had demons hiding in the toilet, ready to eat good Mormon girls, but they were happy enough to take me to Church with them, and I was grateful enough to go.
In fact, Laura was very magnanimous toward me. We spent all of our free time together, except when she had other friends over, and when we played our games together she would kindly tell me that I was best suited to play the villain, and I was pleased to receive the advice. (I’ve always been big on self-improvement.) The Eden of childhood friendship cannot last forever, however, and I was, all too soon, banished from paradise to wander the barren slopes of friendlessness, left a pariah and forced to toil for my social interaction.
Laura had moved away. I was heartbroken. Before she left, though, I made doubly sure she knew what my phone number was, as she did not yet know what her new number was going to be, and I planned on staying best friends forever! This tragedy was not to be goodbye! Oddly enough, her family still hasn’t gotten around to setting up a phone in their new place.
The summer after Laura left my parents decided to send me to a day camp. Perhaps they were trying to assuage and distract me from my pain; perhaps they merely wanted me out of the house for a while. All I know is that the next April I had a brand new little brother. Regardless, I toddled off to camp lonely and ready to find a remedy.
Lo and behold, on the first day, in ceramics class, I met Bob! She was two years older then me and SO COOL. She had blue hair and a boy’s name and she could use the pottery wheel and she was willing to talk to me! I had found her! The fabled new friend! It was thrilling.
Of course I talked to her. That is how friendship is formed. Conversation. I told her all about Laura and my new dog and my older brother, who was awesome but annoying, and my boat and my games and my books and my toys, and I told her all about how everyone at my school was annoying and dumb and how everyone here at camp was awesome and cool. And Bob talked to me. She told me where she and her other friend, Anna, were meeting for lunch.
Ah, those were a wondrous three weeks! Bob, Anna and I would meet in the same place everyday for lunch (I always arrived first!) and the three of us would hang-out. They showed me their Invader Zim comic books and I made them Zucchini bread. They didn’t eat the Zucchini bread, but it’s the thought that counts, right? I even followed them into the bathroom to tell them all about myself. It was glorious. We were friends.
One day, in the last week of camp, I saw Bob in ceramics, as usual. We spoke and were friends. And then, at lunchtime, I showed up at the normal meeting place. I sat down and waited. I was hungry and they were late. I ate my lunch and I waited. And I waited. And my friends never came.
No comments:
Post a Comment