We made plans to be unbreakable
Dance until the band stops playing,
sing with all your might.
We were playing that game, the one with the magnetic fishing pole and the snapping fishes that swim around in a circle. It was late, and the game was pretty difficult for my four-or-five year old fingers. There was a really loud train that went by, the one that usually woke me up at night when I stayed in that house. There was yelling, and I remember being frightened from her daddy's red face. We were in trouble, and we tried to explain it was all a mistake, we didn't do anything wrong, but that didn't stop him from smartly spanking us both before sending us to bed. I don't remember why I was in trouble, but I remember thinking that I shouldn't be in trouble. This is the first memory I have that involves my best friend, Erin Dugan.
Our mothers were best friends. My mom was suicidal and depressed, her mom was religious and structured. It just worked. I'm always told the stories of how Erin, who was a year older than I was, would come to my bedroom window and tap on it until I, a mere toddler, would wake up and laugh and jump at sight of her. My mom would come into my room to see what I was fussing about during my nap, and catch the three year old Erin, playing with me from behind the glass. My mom always liked telling me that Erin and I had been friends since birth.
I remember the birthday party she had where we played Pin-the-Tail-On-the-Donkey in her back yard. I remember the first time I ever tasted green and yellow apples in her neighbor's garage, having three apples in my hands, one of each color, and trying to decide which tasted the best. I remember how we would tug on our parents' shirts after church until they would stop their conversations to tell us we could have the other one over for dinner. I remember so many good times that I spent with her, and how well we got along. We used to play with Barbies and Beanie Babies, we used to watch Saturday morning cartoons together. We never really talked much about the things or people that affected us at school, those parts of our lives were separate. We would just play and laugh and fight like sisters, never getting too personal into the details of our lives, yet always knowing each other better than anyone else. I called her mom Aunt, she called my dad Uncle.
When I switched schools in 3rd grade, it was scary. I thought that I was losing all of my friends, and I was really upset. After settling into my new house, I realized things with Erin hadn't changed at all. We weren't in the same grade, and our friendship was completely based on us - not our surroundings. All the way up to high school we went on, tugging on our parents' shirts and spending Sunday afternoons together. Somewhere around 9th grade, my parents started disagreeing with the way the elders of our church were teaching the congregation. I was scared, but the drama of attending new churches once in awhile and being "the new kid" in the group was exciting. I encouraged different churches, knowing that my friendships at my old church were cemented and secure, wanting to spread my wings and experience new things.
It was 10th grade when I realized things were falling apart. It was a Sunday morning, and I stumbled into church hungover and sore. I hadn't been to my old church in a few months, but my parents had decided to pay a visit that day. I sat next to Erin in the back, and we whispered to each other ignoring the sermon as usual. I was excited to see all of the people I had grown up with again, and as usual I was just another shadow on the wall to most of them. Somewhere in the conversation of boredom that Erin and I shared, I told her. "I, uh, kind of lost my virginity last night." She paused, frozen in shock. "What?"
"Yeah, I was kind of drunk."
I saw the look of disapproval. She didn't say much, but she did tell me "I'm worried about you, Jena," with a frown on her face. Her motherly approach irritated me due to my new sense of egoism. We are not the same, I realized, and we couldn't get along anymore.
Time went by, I stopped going to church altogether. I didn't call, and neither did she. We walked our separate paths, and I barely even thought of her.
Two years later, my family received an invitation to Erin's graduation party. I really wanted to go, but something either had conflicted with the date or my family forgot about the party until a week after it had passed. My dad bought her a necklace as a graduation gift, and we gave it to her about eight months later. I wrote her a letter that went with the necklace, saying that I missed her and that we should hang out. A few weeks later I got a phone call.
I was really nervous about seeing Erin again. She was religious and pious and good, I was a fucked up kid who drank too much, slept with too many guys, and made too many mistakes. We weren't the same people, too much time had passed, how could we ever get along together?
Things were awkward when we met up and she drove me to her house. We hugged, stiffly, and tried to make conversation in the car. When we got to her house, her mom was the same old Aunt Colleen, being all whiny and moping around the house. Her little brothers Ryan and Caleb were inches taller and Ryan had suddenly grown muscles. Her sister Hannah was shy as usual, quiet and wanting to be included. KK - that was Caleb's nickname - was still little enough to not realize that time can build awkward walls. He sat on my lap and tickled me and pinched me like I was still twelve and he was used to me being at his house every Sunday. Ryan tried to act all buff, and I picked on him, wrestling him and tickling him. Erin and I rented a few movies, and we helped Hannah cook dinner when we got back. We played and laughed all night, and I felt like I had stepped into a time machine and nothing had changed.
That night happened about a year ago, and I haven't spoken with Erin since that night. We hugged goodbye, promising phone calls and letters, and then life got busy again. The point is, even though I don't see her very often, and I don't know anything about her right now, she's a part of me. She's my best friend, and has been since birth. Distance and time might change us and split us apart, but I know I'll see her again someday. Maybe, just maybe, we'll grow old having dinner at each others houses every Sunday, and our children will play together like we used to.
sing with all your might.
We were playing that game, the one with the magnetic fishing pole and the snapping fishes that swim around in a circle. It was late, and the game was pretty difficult for my four-or-five year old fingers. There was a really loud train that went by, the one that usually woke me up at night when I stayed in that house. There was yelling, and I remember being frightened from her daddy's red face. We were in trouble, and we tried to explain it was all a mistake, we didn't do anything wrong, but that didn't stop him from smartly spanking us both before sending us to bed. I don't remember why I was in trouble, but I remember thinking that I shouldn't be in trouble. This is the first memory I have that involves my best friend, Erin Dugan.
Our mothers were best friends. My mom was suicidal and depressed, her mom was religious and structured. It just worked. I'm always told the stories of how Erin, who was a year older than I was, would come to my bedroom window and tap on it until I, a mere toddler, would wake up and laugh and jump at sight of her. My mom would come into my room to see what I was fussing about during my nap, and catch the three year old Erin, playing with me from behind the glass. My mom always liked telling me that Erin and I had been friends since birth.
I remember the birthday party she had where we played Pin-the-Tail-On-the-Donkey in her back yard. I remember the first time I ever tasted green and yellow apples in her neighbor's garage, having three apples in my hands, one of each color, and trying to decide which tasted the best. I remember how we would tug on our parents' shirts after church until they would stop their conversations to tell us we could have the other one over for dinner. I remember so many good times that I spent with her, and how well we got along. We used to play with Barbies and Beanie Babies, we used to watch Saturday morning cartoons together. We never really talked much about the things or people that affected us at school, those parts of our lives were separate. We would just play and laugh and fight like sisters, never getting too personal into the details of our lives, yet always knowing each other better than anyone else. I called her mom Aunt, she called my dad Uncle.
When I switched schools in 3rd grade, it was scary. I thought that I was losing all of my friends, and I was really upset. After settling into my new house, I realized things with Erin hadn't changed at all. We weren't in the same grade, and our friendship was completely based on us - not our surroundings. All the way up to high school we went on, tugging on our parents' shirts and spending Sunday afternoons together. Somewhere around 9th grade, my parents started disagreeing with the way the elders of our church were teaching the congregation. I was scared, but the drama of attending new churches once in awhile and being "the new kid" in the group was exciting. I encouraged different churches, knowing that my friendships at my old church were cemented and secure, wanting to spread my wings and experience new things.
It was 10th grade when I realized things were falling apart. It was a Sunday morning, and I stumbled into church hungover and sore. I hadn't been to my old church in a few months, but my parents had decided to pay a visit that day. I sat next to Erin in the back, and we whispered to each other ignoring the sermon as usual. I was excited to see all of the people I had grown up with again, and as usual I was just another shadow on the wall to most of them. Somewhere in the conversation of boredom that Erin and I shared, I told her. "I, uh, kind of lost my virginity last night." She paused, frozen in shock. "What?"
"Yeah, I was kind of drunk."
I saw the look of disapproval. She didn't say much, but she did tell me "I'm worried about you, Jena," with a frown on her face. Her motherly approach irritated me due to my new sense of egoism. We are not the same, I realized, and we couldn't get along anymore.
Time went by, I stopped going to church altogether. I didn't call, and neither did she. We walked our separate paths, and I barely even thought of her.
Two years later, my family received an invitation to Erin's graduation party. I really wanted to go, but something either had conflicted with the date or my family forgot about the party until a week after it had passed. My dad bought her a necklace as a graduation gift, and we gave it to her about eight months later. I wrote her a letter that went with the necklace, saying that I missed her and that we should hang out. A few weeks later I got a phone call.
I was really nervous about seeing Erin again. She was religious and pious and good, I was a fucked up kid who drank too much, slept with too many guys, and made too many mistakes. We weren't the same people, too much time had passed, how could we ever get along together?
Things were awkward when we met up and she drove me to her house. We hugged, stiffly, and tried to make conversation in the car. When we got to her house, her mom was the same old Aunt Colleen, being all whiny and moping around the house. Her little brothers Ryan and Caleb were inches taller and Ryan had suddenly grown muscles. Her sister Hannah was shy as usual, quiet and wanting to be included. KK - that was Caleb's nickname - was still little enough to not realize that time can build awkward walls. He sat on my lap and tickled me and pinched me like I was still twelve and he was used to me being at his house every Sunday. Ryan tried to act all buff, and I picked on him, wrestling him and tickling him. Erin and I rented a few movies, and we helped Hannah cook dinner when we got back. We played and laughed all night, and I felt like I had stepped into a time machine and nothing had changed.
That night happened about a year ago, and I haven't spoken with Erin since that night. We hugged goodbye, promising phone calls and letters, and then life got busy again. The point is, even though I don't see her very often, and I don't know anything about her right now, she's a part of me. She's my best friend, and has been since birth. Distance and time might change us and split us apart, but I know I'll see her again someday. Maybe, just maybe, we'll grow old having dinner at each others houses every Sunday, and our children will play together like we used to.