Letter to a Frenemy

When the man who would be my husband told me how you described me, I didn’t believe him, at first. But at that time, he had no change in the game, as they say. He was on his way to Pittsburg, fleeing our small town for the bright lights of a failed University degree. Our long, close friendship made no never-mind to him. He had no reason to lie, but it had to be a lie. No one says such things about their best friend, do they?

What was your motivation? Did it win you points with your new friends, to describe me as your “crazy” friend? I was out of the country at the time, so I had no clue that while I was eating hand made tortillas and speaking Spanish, you were telling everyone you met terrible lies about me.

How can you sleep at night? How can I, who trusted you all these years? I keep asking myself–is it me? Had you always felt this way about me? When I was telling everyone about my best friend, were you in your turn describing me as a someone to avoid? And how could I have missed the resentment you must have felt?

I’d like to say that your betrayal means nothing to me. It’s been more than twenty years since I walked out of that Susan’s Coffee and Tea, shell shocked by that boy’s revelations. But the truth is, every time I reach out to someone new, a kernel of doubt remains. Is it me?

And now you reach out on Facebook, for us to get together. I hedge my bets, first agreeing and then finding ways to be “too busy” to meet with you. Is it me? Should I meet you again? Can I ever let you know these words, on this blog, that you’ll never see?


your frenemy


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