It seemed so hard.
To admit to myself the feelings that had been boiling in my belly. It reminded me of the huge pots of water grandmother would put on the stove to boil the crabs or the crawfish for Sunday lunch. When I was barely able to reach my grandmother's waist, clinging to her dirty apron, and my hair was tied in long pigtails, I would imagine a Tom Thumb miniature version of myself trapped in a pot, climbing on top of the reddening shell of a blue crab, trying to get away from the boiling liquid, but getting sleepy from the hypnotizing heat never to wake again....or at least that's how I wished those crabs met their fate, in a warm, relaxing bath, getting drowsy and then pitch black--but no pain. But in retrospect, that was much too idyllic and naive of a thought. I wondered what was worse, to be a crustacean or a human. I guess they were both on par with each other.
The waves lapped their tongues onto the shore to taste the sand, only to repel backwards from the saltiness. I sat there on the large boulder that we used to play on when we were little girls. The innocent times of when the gray clouds were brought on because she and I were witches casting spells on evil demons (not because it was supposed to rain.) When grandmother would wake us up at the crack of dawn to look for buried chests of gold and jewels (not to dig for clams for that week’s dinner.) When the seagulls were our loyal messengers gathering for their next mission, (not because the old beachcomber was throwing out stale pieces of sourdough into the wind.) When we were mermaids in the sea...
I had thought the situation up and down and decided that there was no good way things could end up. Someone would be hurt. I was going to be the martyr because it was my own fault for prying...for getting in the way...And if there was ever a decision of whether the gun should be aimed at me or her, I would willingly place the barrel against my own temple, pull the trigger, and fall into her arms, no question, before she could even let out a breath. There were so many times when I wanted to tell her that, but I was afraid she would think me too self-righteous.
I pulled my shawl tighter against my shoulders and wondered where she was. Earlier that morning, I had hesitated as I let the phone ring into my ear. I wondered if she could tell that I had unsuccessfully finished dialing her number for an hour before I could muster the courage to press the last 7th digit. She picked up after the third ring tone and seemed a bit startled that it was me. I told her to meet me at our old place and she agreed without a question. I was glad for that. She never made things harder than they had to be. I thought it best that I be the one to tell her. To let her know all that was, all that would never be.
I saw a dark figure against the edge of the tide about a mile off. I waved and she waved back.
Before I knew it, we were sitting on the boulder side by side looking at the sinking sun like a broken pirate ship slipping beneath the waves. There was a golden silence. No "hello's" or "how ya doing's." Fluff like that was obsolete for old friends like us. So then I told her.
The words fell out of me. Each word painfully pulled from my lips. Bricks that fell from my tongue only to crush onto my toes leaving me to wince at each sting.
But it was the only way to purge these troubled feelings that had formed between us. And I knew that if the rift were to grow any larger, I would lose her forever. And usually, the times when the truth is hardest to admit, is when its most necessary, the only cure for the self-inflicted wounds that had so naturally appeared on my body.
After I finished, I searched her face for some semblance of a reaction but all I saw were her glassy eyes looking far off into the distance. Her long lashes fluttered as a breeze wrapped around us but she didn’t even shudder at the chill.
I wanted to shake her. Make sure that she understood that the only reason I was saying the things that I did was because I felt she deserved the entire truth.
I didn’t even consider the possibility of losing her even after telling her this truth. All I could think of was the “before”, the veil that she had been under, the unmoving stage curtain that never allowed the show to begin. Because for so long we had all been living on the surface, in some kind of fantasy, a castle in the clouds made out of goose feathers. And it seemed to have gone on so long that it had somehow transformed into this hideous concrete reality. But I wouldn’t let her live in make-believe fortresses or walk on brittle sidewalks any longer.
Finally she sighed.
“I’ve missed you. Not just lately. But for a long time now. So many things have changed and…” I could see her clawing for the right words like she always did, trying to make things sound so storybook, straight from a novel. But it only made her seem more vulnerable. “…and, I guess I should have known all along. I was just not letting myself see it. Isn’t it amazing? The way you can fool yourself into holding onto something that’s not there, believing in some invisible safety net when you’ve already hit the ground, broken and bleeding. The power of desire, delusion….make-believe.”
She finally looked at me, and of all things, she smiled. It was a heartbreaking smile that simultaneously conveyed her resolute passivity and invariable forgiveness. “In the end, we’re all just a bunch of insignificant fools.”
I wanted to break down into hysterical sobs. I wished she had slapped me and run off into the distance, never to be heard from again. Or scream at the top of her lungs that she despised me with all her heart and she couldn’t believe that I had the audacity to call her my friend. Needed her to show me some semblance of anger…to justify my actions as wrong-doings. I wanted to feel her hatred for me that matched my own self-loathing.
So we sat there in silence not knowing what the days ahead of us would hold. Absorbing the words that had been exchanged between us. Me, wishing mine had hurt her more, and not expecting hers to have cut me so deeply.
