My best friend moved today.
I feel like I am 6 years old and I want to run home, crawl into my bed and bawl my eyes out.
She is not moving that far, only a few hours away, but that is a considerable difference considering we have lived a 5 min walk apart for 10 years.
It’s one of those end of an era times.
I know we will stay friends but proximity matters and all the day-to-day dropping by, running into each other at Little Nest and “come over for a quick tea” visits are done for.
And it’s this that makes me want to sob.
Her house was our gathering place.
The 6 of us best friends always collected there to regroup and refuel.
I remember one weekend my boyfriend dumped me, I got fired from my waitressing job and I fell backwards down a flight of stairs all at her home.
How many times have I cried in her living room?
- Her hallway is where she fell asleep in the middle of birthing her first child.
- The bedroom is where my boyfriend and I slept while they were on vacation and pretended we were mature enough to own a family home like theirs and then proceeded to rip up their good sheets from too much sex.
- The yard is where we topless sun bathed with the kids.
- The basement is where she sat through me and another friend fighting for hours on end. It was one of those are we going to break up as friends fights and she called a meeting at her home for us to discuss it. I remember going into the bathroom and sinking to the floor in grief at the whole situation. This is the same bathroom where I wiped many little bums and had many splashy baths with her girls. Also the same bathroom where for some reason I would always find her husbands un-flushed poop. I only recently learned (years later) that it was actually her 4-year old daughters un-flushed poop. Which solves the mystery why there was always un-flushed poop in the toilet but is also incredibly shocking that a child’s colon could be mistaken for a grown mans.
This house. This home. It’s over. Like for good.
I’m not meaning to be dramatic but it’s so fucking sad when things are done forever.
A few days ago I noticed myself angry with her. I was again transported back to age 6 and I felt like she was abandoning me, leaving me behind in the cold city for her idyllic 5-acre forested island life. Something my life doesn’t accommodate and cannot afford. So I guess I am a bit jealous too.
But the true deep down feeling is proud of her. She is getting exactly what she wants. She is moving on…
…and it hurts so good.
So we packed her whole family up into a thousand boxes.
We remember that evening we all crowded into their dining room after they were just married and celebrated together.
I thought of all the Christmas parties, the baby showers, the summer porch visits, the board game nights, the kitchen clean ups…
How many different boyfriends have I had in this house over the years? 10 maybe?
Her kids used to ask “why does Emmy has so many men friends and why are they always coming over here?”
Before falling in love, I would bring the new prospect by to meet her family and she would give me the go-ahead or not.
As I stand by the door and hug her one last time she whispers “It’s easier to leave you knowing you have Christie. He will take care of you now.” And she is right.
So we start to cry and we promise we will visit lots but I know, I just know it’s not ever going to be the same.
It is the end of an era.
I will never set foot in this house again. And I feel that slice down the back of my throat.
I walk (carefully) down the stairs. I wave goodbye.
I walk back the exact same route I have taken for a decade.
I come home to my empty apartment. I pet my little dog and I write this.