whither thou goest.

brief thoughts on friendship.

Last week, my best friend from college called me on her drive home. It was 10pm eastern time, where I was, and 8pm mountain time, where she was. We had finally caught each other on the phone at the same time after several variations of shoot, sorry I missed you. This happens a lot. We never get each other at the right time. There’s the time difference; the eastern versus mountain (her zone is cooler than mine, I say), the work schedules, the family stuff. She just started grad school too, which is why we wanted to call. She’s making new friends already, of course. She’s loving it.

I’m so proud of you, and so excited!

She wants to know about me; how I am, am I holding up okay. She’ll track him down, if she has to.

I know, you’re ruthless, I say. I’d sleep with one eye open.

An hour goes by. We’ll see each other soon, as soon as I can get there. I’ll be ready when she arrives. We’ll go to the bars, I’ll introduce her to my new friends. Show her my new life. We love to plan. In the spring she’ll teach me to ski, finally, in Colorado. I tell her I love her, and we get off the phone. She’s lost her keys, texts me a few minutes later and says she found them.

Thank goodness. I love you, too.

No one tells you how to stay in touch. The digital cannot replace my proximity to her: I can hear her voice, yes, but what is the equivalent of sitting on the end of her bed, or stumbling home from a bar, or driving with her to the hospital? No one tells you how to find the time. The time to send the text, like the photo, make the call. It used to be so easy, even then, when everything was happening.

I met her at 19. We worked the same job. We would work there, together, until we graduated. I saw her everyday. At 5pm after work, I often followed her home to keep her company in her big college house. This was sacred time. Close the door, take off your shoes. We would talk for hours before doing the same the next day. She was my daily routine. I wrote my graduate school admissions essay at her desk. No one has watched me change like she has. No one has helped me to change like she has.

Sometimes I go places to simply not be anything. I can be invisible in public, more so than I can be in private. In private, I am all I see and there is no one to hide from. There are places I go where I can wear a costume; the funny hat of productiveness; the cute shoes of being adjusted. Is this not what it means to romanticize my life? To pretend I am a better, funnier, sexier version of the woman I come home to every night? I have a professor who talks about her “teaching costume,” the version of her which happens to be two inches taller and more charismatic. How else do you stand in front of a room of undergraduates? We are all yearning for authenticity, yet we cannot face it on our own.

There are many philosophers with thoughts on friendship. Aristotle comes to mind, Montaigne, as well. Utility, pleasure, moral duty. Goodwill and faithfulness. Our modern notions of friendship often come without a treatise. We blur the lines between friend and lover, platonic and romantic, just enough that we tell our friends we’d marry them at 30, or tell our lovers that they’re our best friends. I’ve been in love with every friend I’ve ever had, and have revered my past loves as my very best friends. Here is the authenticity. I cannot be invisible in front of you. You see me, and you know me.

I will call her soon, and I will tell her everything. Some weeks will go by, and we’ll do the same again. I file away things to tell her, until I have the chance, as I do with so many of my old friends. I put them all on a shelf: the toast I made for breakfast, the book I’m reading, the insane email I received. I felt the air this morning and it reminded me so much of you that I felt you standing next to me. I remember all of it. I will not forget anything. I have to go now, but I’ll be here when you get back.

Thank goodness. I love you.