When I was twelve and my parents announced to us that they would be divorcing, the first person I called was my best friend Amy. In our little group of friends, she was the only one who also had divorced parents, and we were closest among the whole group.
That night my mom got a hotel room for us to stay in while my dad packed some of his belongings and prepared to move out of our house. The hotel has a fantastic swimming pool and game area, so it would keep us all somewhat distracted. It was also just a short walk from Amy’s house, so I met her at her house to tell her about what happened, then we got permission from her mom for her to spend the night with me, and we spent the evening swimming.
When it was time to go to sleep, my mom and sister shared one bed, my brothers another, and Amy and I made a bed on the floor (under the sink, for whatever reason). My mom had to constantly hush us because we were laughing and carrying on, and we finally fell asleep. The next morning we woke up early to swim again, and my mom was furious when she woke up. We had no time to shower, we just had to get in our clothes and get in the car so she could get us to school.
When we walked into class we reeked of chlorine, and now that we were back in the real world I was again distraught about the divorce. Some classmates commented about us smelling like a swimming pool, and Amy told them all that the night before we had stayed at my grandparent’s house. They were very rich, she explained, and had an indoor swimming pool. They let us stay up all night eating ice cream and cookies and swimming in the pool. “They’re super rich,” she exclaimed. “And they let us do anything we want whenever we want.”
The classmates believed all of this and spent the day asking more questions about my grandparents, especially if they could spend the night with us next time. I let Amy handle all the questions. She’d add more elaborate details and my classmates would “ooh” and “ahh!” And then she’d just look at me and smile.
More in a minute but first!
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Now, don’t get me wrong, Amy is not all sweetness and light (and do not believe her when she tells you about the time I “locked” her in “a trunk.” It was a hatchback, it was not locked, and it was for her own protection). But we’ve been friends for so long that “friends” doesn’t even really describe it. I often say she’s more like a sister, but even that seems inadequate. If I don’t call her often enough, she leaves me a sad voicemail asking if I really want to divorce her, but she’s not at all like a wife.
She’s kind of like another part of me. I always know when something is wrong with her, even if I haven’t heard from her in a couple of weeks. I just know. And she’s the same with me. My whole life will be falling apart and right as I’m about to start crying, my phone rings.
We can sometimes drive everyone around us crazy (no one seems to appreciate our epic duet of “Making Love Out of Nothing At All,” and they actively avoid any karaoke spot if we’re both together). My wife refuses to ever visit Jackpot, NV with us again, and her husband refuses to ever go to a bar with us. (He will still go to Jackpot, but by the end of the night he will look at a security guard and say, “I do not know that woman” while looking directly at his wife.)
And, yes, there was that instance when we almost got kicked out of a hotel, and the other time when we WERE.
But other than a one-off here and there, we’re mostly pretty mellow.
Anyway, it’s been way too long since we’ve talked. We both have a lot going on and conflicting schedules. But we were finally able to catch up last night. She was telling me about her new job, and how the woman who was training her came out to her. Amy shrugged. The lady explained she had just come out to the office and some other co-workers weren't taking it very well, and Amy said she had nothing to worry about- her BFF is a lesbian.
“How did you react when she came out to you?”
“Um, honestly, I don’t even remember when she did. It didn’t matter.”
This was true, because I have no recollection of it, either. I think I just mentioned it to her while we were driving to a party; I remember her saying “that makes sense,” but then the conversation was pretty much over and nothing ever changed.
Her co-worker was surprised by this and told Amy that I must be very proud to have her as a friend. “Not really,” said Amy. “It’s just that we have so much shit on each other, at this point we argue about who is a better friend because if she ever goes to prison I will be disappointed, but I’ll still bake a shiv into a cake for her if I need to.”
Amy relayed this to me, and I said, “But I won’t bake a shiv into a cake for you. I will visit every week, and I will love you no matter what crime you committed, and I’ll probably even bake you a cake, but I won’t give you a shiv.”
She sighed. “Well, that’s the thing. My love for you is truly unconditional.”