Friends for ever

It’s funny how the whole concept of friendship changes over the years, as you grow up. Once upon a time I stayed far away from the idea of ‘friends’, because we moved in and out of the country and any that I did make had to be left too soon; for a child, that can be devastating. But as I grew up, I got more cynical and a little more realistic – I made friends, albeit not very close ones, whom I could spend time with, laugh with, play with and then leave, perhaps keeping in touch for a few months, or even a couple of years, before relegating them to the back of the memory-closet where they could be looked at and savoured when the time and need arose, with no rancour or regret. Rediscovering friends like these is in itself a unique experience, refreshing from the point of view of a psyche battered by time and always looking for a new way to recuperate and reenergise.

Many years ago, I had a ‘best friend’. We spent more time together than anyone who lived in the same house would, and we shared everything from childhood dreams to teenage crushes to eyeshadow travails to driving lessons. Since she was a little older than me, it all happened to her earlier than it did to me and I often found myself running harder to catch up than I really needed to. It was only many years later that I understood that it was not necessary at all for me to catch up with her, or indeed with anyone else. I was myself, I was what I was and why should I feel the need to be or do anything that was not in my own destiny?

My ‘best friend’ and I had our own lives, quite separate from the one we shared in so many ways. She became another child in our household and was treated as one, an open affection often opposed by me, overly possessive of my parents’ affection, attention and time. I made occasional visits to her home, while she had free season in ours, neither of which really mattered to any of us. And we spent most waking moments in communication with each other, as only two little girls can manage to do – we would wake up and call each other, we would bathe and call each other, we would call each other just before we left our own homes, walk down to school together and then spend most of the day together in our various classes, finally walking home together after the sports session was done, the immaculate hair dishevelled, the uniforms wrinkled and grubby, the socks sagging somewhat over bruised ankles and the pong of sweaty little girl hovering like an almost-tangible aura over us both.

We grew up soon enough. It was often not too happy a process and we dealt with angsts and anxieties, parents and, in her case, siblings. There was rivalry and small envies, none ever spiralling into an argument or anything that could remotely be described as a ‘fight’. But slowly, as we grew in different directions, so did the friendship. I had new experiences she could never be part of, she had a life that never impinged on mine. For a while, we did not communicate at all – I was out of the country, she had a separate orbit. And then we met again, almost like we had never been apart. Adult now, both of us were careful about how we talked and what we talked about. But there was the old affection, the old teasing and knowing and awareness. It just was not that important to me when it all ended. It didn’t seem as important to keep it going, or to find out why it stopped.

But, like the cycle of perhaps life itself, it seems to have come around again. There is some sort of contact between the families…or what is left of them. What happens next, I wait to find out. It should be fun, any which way it goes.