wouldn’t hate me forever, praying I could get my best friend back.
I heard the door knob turn, opened my eyes and blurted out my intentions before she could utter a single syllable.
“I’m sorry. Tell me how I can make it up. I can’t do this without you.”
Chris sighed a nd motioned for me to come in. Stepping inside, I held my tongue—her house was trashed. She wasn’t a neat freak necessarily, and it wasn't uncommon for her house to be messy, but it looked like she hadn’t cleaned a single thing all week. Empty chip bags and candy wrappers were all over. There were ashtrays overflowing with cigarette butts and blunt roaches. I couldn’t see the kitchen, but I could image what it must look like based on the smell emanating out of it. There were crumbs in the carpet that I heard crunch under my feet.
I moved a carry out container of hot wing bones off the sectional and sat down. She took a seat, and we both were silent , staring at anything but each other. I had a million things to say, but couldn’t seem to get my mouth to work. Chris had her elbows on her knees and was bent forward, wringing her hands as if she too was unsure how to proceed. I feared the worst; that her silence meant she didn’t want to be my friend anymore, but he didn't know how to tell me. That I’d been so self-absorbed after the accident, she didn’t feel I was worth it, and my J comments were the tipping point for her to say fuck it with regards to our friendship.
Getting shot had a way of putting things into perspective. Some things. I didn’t have perspective on J, or at least, I wasn’t sure what my fucked up perspective was since it kept flip flopping like a fish on land. What getting shot had made me realize was that a true friend was hard to come by, a true female friend even harder. Sure, the guys at work meant a lot to me, and I valued that they all took care of me in their own weird ways, but I couldn’t talk to them the way I did with Chris. Even Aaron couldn’t replace Chris. I needed someone with the double X’s to really understand me. Those Y chromosomes didn’t understand how I could laugh one minute and cry in another, or how a single emotion could rule me for days. They didn’t understand the complexities that came with being a woman. They would never understand why I wished I had a dick sometimes so I didn’t have to feel so much, but at the same time wouldn’t give my vagina up for the world. I wanted to feel as much as I didn’t, something men would never understand, even gay men. Shit, I wasn't even sure I understood it.
Well fuck, t his was awkward, but I knew I had to speak up, so I bit the bullet. I needed my friend back.
“I’m sorry I’ve been a shitty friend. After what you did for me, I never should have brought up— ”
Chris held her hand out, palm facing me, to indicate I didn’t need to keep going. Crap, crap, crap. She wasn't going to even let me explain? My heart started to race, and it seemed like hours of uncomfortable silence lingered in the air, though I knew it was just a few moments before Chris finally said her piece.
“I was a bitch.”
I sat in silence, stunned and unsure what to say to that comment. I’d be lying if I said that exact thought hadn’t occurred to me. She kinda had been a bitch, but I thought I deserved it. She’d taken care of me the way a mother—other than my own—would have taken care of their child. Chris had not only done that, but she’d tolerated the comings and goings of Larry, a feat in and of itself.
“Chris, I’m not really sure what to say. Yeah, you were a bitch, but I think you had reason to be. I mean, you took care of me and I didn’t say thank you. I have no idea what’s going on in your life cuz I’ve been so wrapped up in mine. And I know you had to deal with things after J shot me that I didn’t. You had to race me to the hospital, wait around to find out if I’d live, and deal with the shooter all at the same time.
I heard the door knob turn, opened my eyes and blurted out my intentions before she could utter a single syllable.
“I’m sorry. Tell me how I can make it up. I can’t do this without you.”
Chris sighed a nd motioned for me to come in. Stepping inside, I held my tongue—her house was trashed. She wasn’t a neat freak necessarily, and it wasn't uncommon for her house to be messy, but it looked like she hadn’t cleaned a single thing all week. Empty chip bags and candy wrappers were all over. There were ashtrays overflowing with cigarette butts and blunt roaches. I couldn’t see the kitchen, but I could image what it must look like based on the smell emanating out of it. There were crumbs in the carpet that I heard crunch under my feet.
I moved a carry out container of hot wing bones off the sectional and sat down. She took a seat, and we both were silent , staring at anything but each other. I had a million things to say, but couldn’t seem to get my mouth to work. Chris had her elbows on her knees and was bent forward, wringing her hands as if she too was unsure how to proceed. I feared the worst; that her silence meant she didn’t want to be my friend anymore, but he didn't know how to tell me. That I’d been so self-absorbed after the accident, she didn’t feel I was worth it, and my J comments were the tipping point for her to say fuck it with regards to our friendship.
Getting shot had a way of putting things into perspective. Some things. I didn’t have perspective on J, or at least, I wasn’t sure what my fucked up perspective was since it kept flip flopping like a fish on land. What getting shot had made me realize was that a true friend was hard to come by, a true female friend even harder. Sure, the guys at work meant a lot to me, and I valued that they all took care of me in their own weird ways, but I couldn’t talk to them the way I did with Chris. Even Aaron couldn’t replace Chris. I needed someone with the double X’s to really understand me. Those Y chromosomes didn’t understand how I could laugh one minute and cry in another, or how a single emotion could rule me for days. They didn’t understand the complexities that came with being a woman. They would never understand why I wished I had a dick sometimes so I didn’t have to feel so much, but at the same time wouldn’t give my vagina up for the world. I wanted to feel as much as I didn’t, something men would never understand, even gay men. Shit, I wasn't even sure I understood it.
Well fuck, t his was awkward, but I knew I had to speak up, so I bit the bullet. I needed my friend back.
“I’m sorry I’ve been a shitty friend. After what you did for me, I never should have brought up— ”
Chris held her hand out, palm facing me, to indicate I didn’t need to keep going. Crap, crap, crap. She wasn't going to even let me explain? My heart started to race, and it seemed like hours of uncomfortable silence lingered in the air, though I knew it was just a few moments before Chris finally said her piece.
“I was a bitch.”
I sat in silence, stunned and unsure what to say to that comment. I’d be lying if I said that exact thought hadn’t occurred to me. She kinda had been a bitch, but I thought I deserved it. She’d taken care of me the way a mother—other than my own—would have taken care of their child. Chris had not only done that, but she’d tolerated the comings and goings of Larry, a feat in and of itself.
“Chris, I’m not really sure what to say. Yeah, you were a bitch, but I think you had reason to be. I mean, you took care of me and I didn’t say thank you. I have no idea what’s going on in your life cuz I’ve been so wrapped up in mine. And I know you had to deal with things after J shot me that I didn’t. You had to race me to the hospital, wait around to find out if I’d live, and deal with the shooter all at the same time.
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