He also called me Theodor and we were best friends. I was a freshman and he was a senior who took me under his wing.
I recently found a box of letters, notes and concert tickets stubs of our friendship spanning many years and felt crushed after reading everything. How did I thoroughly forget him?
I guess it was the only way to survive him.
When I landed in Boston, I looked like a twelve year old that’s crashed college. I drew attention when I wanted to be invisible. I put out a bat signal and gained a frontline of protective bonus big brothers. I built a group of super friends.
The senior was my favorite. He set the upperclassmen straight if they looked at me the wrong way. And he was on me to study, practice and avoid distraction. He was a charming, likable, great pianist that after a day of classes and rehearsals between us, it was nice to enjoy a nightly walk along Newbury Street to report the day’s events.
He was the city mouse that found a country mouse and something motivated him to see that no harm land on me. I remember how he pleaded, one particular day, that I test out my pepper spray on him to make sure it works. I couldn’t do it. I could only trust it would when needed and that his city survival coaching was good. He taught me to see the difference between nice people and good people, how to be more aware of my surroundings and point out questionable areas. His pet peeve was people calling anyone a gentleman when a man wasn’t proven gentle or civil. He was SERIOUS but had enough silly. We discussed being human and making a difference when we grow up and laughed while riding his bicycle through the city. I was either on his handle bars or sitting on the book rack behind him, holding on for dear life. Zipping by, I remember a bunch of old men clapping. They said they were happy for us. Ahhh young love, they exclaimed.
It was very romantic.
“Race you to the door.”
And after he saw I was safely home, it was goodnight. He was my best friend. He was graduating and leaving. We didn’t kiss or complicate ourselves and we loved each other. I said my goodbye at the end of my freshman year and left for San Diego and summer break. I didn’t expect to see him for my sophomore year.
He decided to surprise me and my family by getting on a plane and arrive uninvited that first summer. That created some waves but my brothers vouched for him after seeing my best friend was indeed a best friend and not a boyfriend in disguise. He also got invited to join us for a family vacation in the Bay Area because there was no way my mom was going to let me have reign of the house with my spontaneous and spirited best friend in a guy suit.
My sophomore year enjoyed his company but he had injured himself and his piano playing came to a halt as he dealt with pain, cortisone shots and surgery. Slowly, he drifted away. I could tell his pain was not subsiding. His enthusiastic letters would reduce to painful scribble at the end. He went back home to England. He still wrote to encourage me in my studies. Pain was his companion but I was still his best friend. He dated women but no one enduring enough to be mentioned more than once. He was thrilled when I told him I met someone in my senior year and that it was serious. We were leaving Boston and moving to California.
He once told me that he would pray to the fairy queen on my behalf if it would help me. He said my thoughts and what I believed in made me beautiful. He showed me that you didn’t need to believe the same things to be friends. An Agnostic and a Christian can be best friends. He wished he and my Boston friends were nearer to be helpful. Everyone was struggling and feeling a little scared scattered across the country. He was sad with me when I shared that my boyfriend was drifting away since moving and my differences were no longer acceptable. We all thought we were going through the rough patch adjusting to life after graduation.
While I faltered and fell building my grown up life, he wrote his encouragements and concerns. And then I went through a dark dark time, all my family could do is provide a quiet safe space to recover. I think I lived in my pajamas for several months.
Meanwhile, he moved from England and was living an adventure in the Bay Area with relatives. He wrote to encourage me to stay connected to friends and family and that they will see me through. And then he admitted that he felt bad that he was happy I left my relationship that had gone seriously south.
And maybe that this was the universe telling us to stop being only best friends and maybe that we would be better as a couple.
We weren’t better as a couple. His pain crippled his music career and I was a constant reminder of past glorious days. On our happiest days, we were best friends and adored one another. He still left notes for me...in the fridge, in cupboards. Sometimes, he would even write on a post it, put that in an envelope and mail that to me. On our lowest days, I found him a fuzzy blur of who he once was. He was struggling to redefine himself and make peace with pain. It became to difficult to bear between the two of us. My best friend became my worst friend.
Why did he call me Ted? Because I told him he liked having me with him everywhere he went. I was small, portable, and fun; a teddy bear. I was there for the laughs and the tears.
We parted ways after I saw we were no longer best of friends. Reading the last of our correspondence, we ripped our hearts out, and found no way to console one another.
And then I forgot him. I put all his notes, cards, and letters in a box and put him away in my closet. I figured one day, I’d share them when I have a daughter of my own, and show her how fun it was to be loved. I’ve had beautiful love affairs and the best one I’m having is with her dad. Future man and child still stardust in the universe.....
I thought of him and his family a couple of years ago and sent him a hello and then forgot about him again. He did write back amazed because it was his wedding day. And then back to the shelf all thought of him went.
I opened the box this week after thinking about Marie Kondo-ING my closet and see what and what doesn’t SPARK JOY. Boy, am I a mess of emotion. I actually FORGOT HIM again. How do you forget a best friend? Survival. It’s what I had to do to move on and create new paths for myself.
He found his happily ever after. It was nice to hear that I did make a difference in his life. Knowing that makes me realize Life is good.
Every bit of laughs and tears were worth it. It was good remembering my best friend that I needed to forget.
JNET