Lesson Six.

“Why do I keep saying you’re my best friend?  Maybe I’ve just known you the longest.”

Somebody egged my car.

I swerved into the other lane, then quickly righted (or I guess ‘lefted’) myself.   I thought I hit something, then figured it was random falling debris but nope, there it was - the telltale streaks of a definite egg attack.

If the culprits had been watching me, they may have been quite pleased with the reaction that followed.  But little did those little bastards know that I’d already been quietly sobbing on this 1am drive home, and the egging just put me over the edge to a super melodramatic howling, runny-nosed bout of full on banshee screaming.  

I have a group of friends, ‘The GNs’, which stands for ‘Girls Night’ – a fun meetup we started having about 10 years ago.  The night rotates between our homes, and even though our ambitious goal of monthly ‘pot luck game nights’ soon petered to quarterly ‘bring your own food and nobody likes Pictionary but you’, we have continued through all that could happen in a decade within a group of 6 women – weddings, babies, parent drama, children drama, friendship drama, illness, financial woes, new homes, new jobs, breakups, talks about divorce, actual divorce…

Our group charted would be a Venn diagram of duos and trios and cousins and neighbours that knew this person and that person and ‘we’ve been friends since we were four’.  A friendship fallout that had us lose one person along the way revealed a never-spoken realisation that you need to have at least two close friends in the group in order to have a real place.

And so the seven of us gather, sometimes spontaneously, but most often, as was the case in the evening of the egging, after carefully choosing a night when most of us are available and someone is willing to host a raucous booze-filled night.   We chatted about our jobs and Beyonce’s concert outfits, talking at the same time, yelling around each other, laughing and dutty-wining and reminiscing.

Then one comment, possibly careless but not malicious, from one friend to another, led to an avalanche of shouting, tears, unresolved hurts, accusations, defensive reactions, misunderstandings and the abrupt and premature ending of our night.  “Girl’s night is over.  Please leave.”

I was asked to stay behind, and did so thinking I’d be providing a shoulder and ear, but instead took a winding, signpost-free path (how did I get here?) that ended with me defending myself against rehashings of an issue from last year, one I'd thought she'd moved on from but clearly she had not. This situation had triggered still-raw memories of another 

After an hour of this, I'm irritated and thinking of the long drive ahead of me.  I'd explained, apologised, and I wanted it to be over. Frustrated, I suggested that maybe we aren’t all as close as we once were. Thus why I didn’t understand what was going on with her, when a ‘real friend’ would have.   Why we don’t really hang out that often outside of our GN events.  Why I have other friends I see more often.  Why some in the group don’t share what’s going on in their lives.  Why we don’t have as much in common anymore.

But that was a crutch. 

It was in the same category of, “Well I was going through my own shit at the time too you know… “ and “I’m really busy… “ All excuses I tossed out during this confrontation with my own shortcomings and as a way to avoid the cognitive dissonance – the difference between how I’d treated my friend, and the person I think I am.  

I hosed the egg off my car, tears streaming down my face… then crawled into bed and cried a bit more.   Cried thinking of how many nights my sister-friends and I had spent together.   Of how much this group has shaped me, supported me, taught me.  

Friendship is a precious thing.  And even though it might not look the same, ever again, I was wrong to suggest that it wasn’t still beautiful.