Helluva Town
On Thursday C.S. stabbed me in the heart by announcing that she plans to move to Los Angeles. Yep, she's packing up the twins and taking off.
This is a woman who says that what comes out of the faucet is "waw-ter." (The best in the country, by the way.) When you need to buy something, you go to the "mawl." (Of course, we don't really have those here in New Yawk.) I am a lifelong New Yorker, and, when confronted with C.S.'s version of a New York accent, an out-of-towner once asked me if I was British.
Her announcement reduced me to a sobbing, quivering mass. I cried so much that the next morning, I had black-and-blues under my eyes, like the kind often observed on women who have recently pushed 10-pound people through their vaginas. I should mention that I also once cried during "The Golden Girls." (For the record, it was the homeless shelter episode, which was extremely touching. They played "Brother, Can You Spare a Dime?" and everything.) Still, crying hard enough to break capillaries is unusual, even for me.
There is no doubt in my mind that this is the right thing for C.S. to do. She's just spinning her wheels here. She needs a break, and probably has ever since she and I stupidly elected not to spend our junior year of college abroad. Still, my heart is breaking.
I've never known anyone quite like C.S. She understood me immediately. To her, it made perfect sense that I would subscribe both to Mad and to Cosmopolitan, and that my interests would include recombinant DNA, baking, women's health, vintage Barbie dolls, and visiting museums with preserved human remains. She's the sister I never had, right down to our mutual dark curly hair, and she's the only friend I have (other than my husband) who says "I love you."
I was one of the last people C.S. told about her plans to move. I know that she waited so long because of our special relationship, because it was so hard to tell me. It reminded me, though, of that startling feeling during a breakup. You spend so much time with someone as the one person in which they confide all their secrets and ideas, and then one day they decide to end the relationship, and they can't tell you until their mind is made up. * That's how it felt.
Although C.S. and I live in the same neighborhood, we really don't see each other all that often. We do talk throughout the day, almost every day; thanks to modern technology, that doesn't have to change.
My biggest fear, though, is that she'll meet someone she likes better than me, or that she'll change, and I'll change, and we'll grow apart. Maybe I'll become a boring stroller mom (hopefully), and she'll join up with a pack of hippies and begin a drug-filled odyssey like that chick in Forrest Gump, or she'll get a really cool job and really great clothes and go to cocktail parties every night while I juggle poopy diapers and the slow cooker, or, if I'm less fortunate, fertility treatments. Or, maybe she'll go to L.A., enjoy it for a year or so, and come home, relatively unchanged. We just don't know.
I do know that if she doesn't do this now, she'll probably regret it. And I know that I need to let her go.
But that doesn't mean I won't guilt her into buying me lunch today.
(*Yes, I'm aware of the lack of agreement between "person" and "they", but his/her would have distracted from the impact, don't you think?)
This is a woman who says that what comes out of the faucet is "waw-ter." (The best in the country, by the way.) When you need to buy something, you go to the "mawl." (Of course, we don't really have those here in New Yawk.) I am a lifelong New Yorker, and, when confronted with C.S.'s version of a New York accent, an out-of-towner once asked me if I was British.
Her announcement reduced me to a sobbing, quivering mass. I cried so much that the next morning, I had black-and-blues under my eyes, like the kind often observed on women who have recently pushed 10-pound people through their vaginas. I should mention that I also once cried during "The Golden Girls." (For the record, it was the homeless shelter episode, which was extremely touching. They played "Brother, Can You Spare a Dime?" and everything.) Still, crying hard enough to break capillaries is unusual, even for me.
There is no doubt in my mind that this is the right thing for C.S. to do. She's just spinning her wheels here. She needs a break, and probably has ever since she and I stupidly elected not to spend our junior year of college abroad. Still, my heart is breaking.
I've never known anyone quite like C.S. She understood me immediately. To her, it made perfect sense that I would subscribe both to Mad and to Cosmopolitan, and that my interests would include recombinant DNA, baking, women's health, vintage Barbie dolls, and visiting museums with preserved human remains. She's the sister I never had, right down to our mutual dark curly hair, and she's the only friend I have (other than my husband) who says "I love you."
I was one of the last people C.S. told about her plans to move. I know that she waited so long because of our special relationship, because it was so hard to tell me. It reminded me, though, of that startling feeling during a breakup. You spend so much time with someone as the one person in which they confide all their secrets and ideas, and then one day they decide to end the relationship, and they can't tell you until their mind is made up. * That's how it felt.
Although C.S. and I live in the same neighborhood, we really don't see each other all that often. We do talk throughout the day, almost every day; thanks to modern technology, that doesn't have to change.
My biggest fear, though, is that she'll meet someone she likes better than me, or that she'll change, and I'll change, and we'll grow apart. Maybe I'll become a boring stroller mom (hopefully), and she'll join up with a pack of hippies and begin a drug-filled odyssey like that chick in Forrest Gump, or she'll get a really cool job and really great clothes and go to cocktail parties every night while I juggle poopy diapers and the slow cooker, or, if I'm less fortunate, fertility treatments. Or, maybe she'll go to L.A., enjoy it for a year or so, and come home, relatively unchanged. We just don't know.
I do know that if she doesn't do this now, she'll probably regret it. And I know that I need to let her go.
But that doesn't mean I won't guilt her into buying me lunch today.
(*Yes, I'm aware of the lack of agreement between "person" and "they", but his/her would have distracted from the impact, don't you think?)
Copyright 2005-2010 by Arabella and Trattoria Breve. All rights reserved. 10:07 AM
4 Comments:
I am resonating with so much of this post. The broken capillaries, the various interests that make a person add up to so much more than the sum of their (OK: his/her) parts, the extreme preciousness of friends who say "I love you."
And you know, sometimes it hurts just as much to be the person who has to make the decision to go away.
And as much as I beef about it sometimes, you really really can nurture a friendship with modern technology, even a coast-to-coast one.
I am resonating with so much of this post. The broken capillaries, the various interests that make a person add up to so much more than the sum of their (OK: his/her) parts, the extreme preciousness of friends who say "I love you."
And you know, sometimes it hurts just as much to be the person who has to make the decision to go away.
And as much as I beef about it sometimes, you really really can nurture a friendship with modern technology, even a coast-to-coast one.
Aw, Arabella, that sucks! But Jessica is right, you can maintain that friendship even if you can't see each other often. I have lots of friends who have become left-coasters. Some, I have remained close to, others have gone all Hollywood on me. But I would be amazed if your connection to C.S. went down the tubes. And, just think, now you'll have a place to stay if you ever go West, young woman!
Thanks for your support, ladies! You make me hopeful about keeping up the friendship with technology.
Jessica--you're right, I can't imagine how hard it must be to make the decision to go away. I need to keep that in mind and be supportive of C.S.
Mrs. Harridan--I'm already planning the first trip! I'm glad not everyone went Hollywood.
A moment of levity: C.S.'s reaction to today's post was, "You've cried more than once while watching 'The Golden Girls.'"
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