
I have a hard time making friends.
Acquaintances are easy to make. They
come and go. Hell, so do friends sometimes, but those aren't the
lasting relationships I'm talking about. A Facebook friend used the
term “forever friends” the other day and it so perfectly
describes what I mean that I had to lift it. Forever friends are
those special people that aren't related to you but that you know
will be there for you, even if it's been 2 months, or 2 years since
your last call. If you live close by, you can call your Forever
Friend anytime, for anything and she'll be at your door in 30
minutes. With vodka. And ice cream.
Forever friends. Those are the hard
ones to find.
When I was a teenager, my 11th
grade English teacher told me that at the end of your life you will
be able to count the true friends you've had on one hand. If you're
extremely lucky, you'll move on to the second hand. I scoffed and
looked around at my circle of high school friends and actually felt
sorry for the guy. How sad was that? Only 5 real friends in all his
ancient years? (In actuality, I think he was in his late 30's at the
time, an irony that is not lost on me now.)
Although I've spent my entire life
moving – the curse of the Air Force brat – and making friends, I
am an introvert. People laugh at me when I say this, but let me be
clear; I'm not shy. I'm not shy at all. I am reserved, but I have
no problems talking to strangers, networking or making …
acquaintances. Of those many acquaintances, some with shared
backgrounds or interests or children or ideas do become friends. Of
course. But those friendships often fade away through time or
distance or because what once brought us together, whether it be
children of the same age, a job or a photography class, isn't as
important or immediate. I call them situational or superficial friends. Yes, they
are still my friends. They riddle my Facebook page and we exchange
cards and, on rare occasion, visits.
Forever friends. Those friends are
very rare.
My forever friends, women and men
alike, they get me. I get them. And it doesn't matter if we have
completely different political ideologies or careers. It doesn't
matter who has children or if they're even close to the same age.
Geography is irrelevant. These are the friends I will keep my entire
life. I will watch their children grow up. I will cheer on their
careers and love lives. I will wipe their tears, even if I need to
have the ice cream and Grey Goose delivered via Fed Ex on dry ice. I
will go to their weddings. I will mourn them when they die or they
will mourn me. Because, you see, we will be friends forever.
I can count these people on one hand.
On less than one hand.
A few times in my life I've met someone
that I thought would become a forever friend only to discover that I
was … wrong.
We've all had friends like this. You
talk and talk for hours and hours. You have so much in common. You
really seem to click. But after the initial charming rush of doing
many things together, you slowly begin to realize that you are the
one who is usually making the calls, doing the inviting, suggesting
the outings or waiting for the phone to ring. It's not deliberate or
vengeful or malicious. You just aren't … the first friend who
comes to mind.
It hurts. We've all been there.
For the introvert, however, I think it
hurts more. You see, we introverts, we live very much inside
ourselves. We keep the best parts of ourselves inside; the funny;
the snark; the big ideas. Not many people ever get in there. Not
really. So when we let someone in, when I let someone in,
it's kind of a big deal. A really big deal. And I don't think that
most people realize this about me; that I'm not really a thick
skinned extrovert with tons of friends. I'm actually a quivering
mass of goo who will sometimes even cry if someone forgets to call.
I'd much rather keep myself closed off
until I know someone is a forever friend. But that's not
possible. Because every forever friendship develops precisely because
we get to see that quivering mass of goo inside another. And we
manage to keep from running away screaming. Forever friends always
start out as superficial or situational friends, but it would be so
much easier for ME if they could just come stamped with a nice big F
on the forehead. So I'd know.
Superficial friendships drain me.
They're exhausting for an introvert. They're exhausting for me. I
never know if that offer to have dinner, or get the kids together, or
have an outing is a real one or if a superficial friend will just
forget about it. I struggle with whether to tell Hollis that he's
going to do X with his friend Y because I have no idea if Y's mommy
will actually follow through. And that's where this whole friendship
thing gets even more troublesome.
Because, you see, the kids are involved now. And Hollis is just. like.
me.
If Y's mom doesn't call or follow
through, then I'm the one left picking up the pieces when Hollis's
heart is broken. Because I can't tell him that I'm sure Y's mom just
forgot or lost track of time or was really busy. No matter what lies
I tell him or how many times I tell him that things just didn't work
out, or we couldn't get schedules to mesh or even take the blame all
on myself, Hollis will take it personally. No matter what I do,
he will have his little heart smooshed because some thoughtless
person didn't realize that the offhand comment she made was taken to
heart by a little boy who was listening.
When this happens, I sometimes feel
like I don't have any real friends here at all, although that
certainly isn't true. It makes me want to move. Somewhere where I
have ties, and roots and all my friends and family. Somewhere where
I know that my children will always have friends and family they can
count on.
But that somewhere doesn't really
exist. My forever friends and my family are flung all over the
country. I'm a military brat. I don't have a home. Well, this
is home now.
Usually, it's all fine. Ninety-eight
percent of the time, it's fine. But when my heart hurts and it's all
caught up in the pain my little guy will feel and in figuring out how
to make the blow as soft as possible for Hollis, it's not fine. No
matter how small or insignificant this all may really be it's not
fine today. And I find myself cursing my high school English teacher
because he was right.
I need to call one of my forever
friends. Send vodka. Don't forget the Chunky Monkey.