I Have One Friend. One Real Friend.

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Friends… Have we ever really took the time to think about the word, “friend?” During our duration on this earth we accumulate at least a few people in our inner circles that we can bare for more than 15 minutes or better yet, that can bare us. I have accumulated quite a few friends. I consider myself an outgoing person and even after 20 years of being alive I still have not perfected the delivery of a punch line, people like to talk to me.

My friends came in all sorts of ways, high school was the starter. Looking back, though, I recall having to sit alone most days at lunch. For a very well known person I was alone most days. I collected a good 150 friends, 5 boyfriend types, 1 serious relationship and 2 actual friends. Sure those friends are now distant memories and they only are attached my memories along with a memorable keg stand or a girl’s nipple popping out of her shirt when she was too wasted to notice people were watching her. After that, between work, two colleges and a few social scenes I collected even more friends. People became like collectables. “Of course I know so and so, she gave me a ride home once.” “Yeah he hit on me at a party. He’s kind of a douche bag though.” Rarely used or played with, but the knowledge of their presence and names was enough to entertain people.

The boyfriends, they were better friends to me than any, ‘friends’ I’ve met in my life. They were always friends at first, but even I knew at a young age boys don’t want be friends…not with girls personally, only their vaginas. Sorry girls, sad but true. Sure, a lot of them would rather not speak to me ever again because of the way I have left every single “sort-of” relationship in my life. By that I mean…unpleasantly. Apparently, boys are more emotionally attached if you let them know up front you don’t want a boyfriend.

I’m drawing away from my actual topic, friends. My friends came in all forms: acquaintances, boyfriends, coworkers and classmates. Through all that though, I have one friend. One real friend. I find myself lucky to call her my friend. I met her on the first day of Kindergarten. We went to a private school so we all blended together in a sea of red polo shirts and jumpers. What drew my attention to this girl though? What could she possibly have had to be separable from everyone else? Basketball shoes. This girl with long wavy brown hair was wearing basketball shoes with white ankle socks. I was wearing a plaid jumper with folded white socks, oxfords and a headband matching my dress. Of all the people in my class, the only time I was shy in my life was introducing myself to this girl. It only took all of two seconds, which at the time seemed so small, to meet my future soul mate. Fifteen years, three boyfriends, four schools and a shit load of teenage rebellion problems later…we’re still friends. We graduated to sisters a long time ago, though. It might have been when she never had a problem giving me money to buy Cheeto’s everyday in elementary school because my mom thought it was pointless when she packed me a lunch. Or, it could’ve been the day I took the fall for her weed when her mom confronted us for smoking in her backyard. It was her weed, it was her pipe. I was glad to say it was mine so she didn’t get the crap kicked out of her. I think back and laugh at these things now. The worst of us was never bad, just trouble. I know these friends are hard to come by. These people are more than friends, they become your partners, your crutches, your chasers after a shitty tasting shot that could possibly knock you on your ass. Sometimes events can separate us from these people and others can pull us apart.

And sure, it’s not the worst thing to be alone. Could even be better because no one would really understand you quite like this certain person does. But I think these people are the people you fight for and hold on to. They’re the people you get pissed off at but would never throw a first punch to their face. They’re the ones you can sit and criticize but get mad when outsiders do. They’re the ones you create your own worlds in, your own personal escapes. Being alone sometimes is easier than trying to relate to someone but I’m sure most can agree when I say, the most beautiful colors are made when two ordinary ones are blended together.


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