dailyeatings

I used to hate her, you know. A long time ago.

When I first met her, she was the New Girl. Rudely thrust into the well-established order of my academic universe, she recently transferred from a nearby private school, where popular rumor held that she was all kinds of notable, a Big Deal in the things she did.

She wouldn’t ever shut up. She’d talk loudly, endlessly about this or that, about how she used to do whatever back at her old school, how things were different here, how she wanted this or was going to do that. And she never had any fear, at least not of me. I couldn’t ever talk her down. It drove me batty.

She came in and upset the delicate balance of my social circles, dated my friends, made waves in my extracurricular activites, always spoke with that grating, nasal voice of hers and basically made a conspicuous, constant nuisance of herself that I couldn’t ever avoid.

We graduated, and moved on to another school. She followed.

We made an uneasy truce. In this new world, she was one of the few people I knew, and as much as I couldn’t stand to be around her, at least I knew what she thought of me. Which, being shy and awkward and geeky and tall, was far more than I could say about anybody else.

It was on and off for a number of years. She did the same things I did, which meant we were around each other a lot. A lot.

I learned where the soft spots in her armor were. And she mine. It was mutually assured destruction for a while, holding back your weapons because you know the enemy will just lob something equally devastating right back at you.

Every now and then, we’d have a skirmish. And then it’d be okay. Then it would be tense all over again, for a long time.

She was a bit unhinged. Honestly. I was conservative and had fallen into the trap of haughty teenage pseudointellectualism, like so many of my friends; she cursed like a sailor, wore really short shorts and talked about sex all the time. It made her infamous, if not popular. At least with the guys.

It got rough after a while. Outright hostility, where before it was merely strain. We’d hurl the most grievously wounding insults at each other. I remember reducing her to tears on more than one occasion. She embarrassed and angered me publicly again and again. It became a weird game, how rapidly we could go from nice to cruel, and then back again.

My friends thought she was psycho, her friends thought I was weird. Those nearby caught in the crossfire thought we acted like preschoolers.

We got yelled at a lot. To behave. To shut up. To cut it out already. To stand as far apart as possible. Kinda hard to do that in band, when you’re seat #4 and she’s #5.

I became famous for all the weird shit I’d pull. I became adept at yanking the rug out from under her, being nice just long enough for her to let her guard down, and then getting that zinger in right when she least expected it. Then I’d be nice to her again. Sometimes, I even though of her as a friend. It was terrible.

A couple years later, something unexpected happened.

One of my best friends developed an enormous crush on her. Ours was an old and familiar friendship. I had been there when he had gone through relationships both good and bad, and I was perfectly aware that there was no way that I was going to be able to talk him out of this one.

It was weird. He liked her, a lot. She wasn’t sure. And I had to support my friend.

I called off the dogs. Dramatically. It was the longest sustained period of civility I had with her.

The spent all kinds of time together, even though they were never ‘dating’. She wasn’t into him, she always told me. Not like that. I suddenly became a relationship therapist, a revolving door, everybody’s confidante Tell me about him, she’d ask. What’s he thinking. Did she say anything about me, he’d wonder. Did she tell you anything.

I’d joke with her about having his children and how ugly they’d be. She didn’t find it funny.

After a while, it was clear nothing was going to happen. He got frustrated and unhappy. She returned to circling in that weird emotional holding pattern she’d found ever since she broke up with an Unfortunate Ex some time ago. I recused myself from all of it.

I left for a summer, the last before our senior years. I came back and things were bad. Very bad. We were old. Territory had been staked out in my absence. Her stock had risen. Mine was flat. I came back and things were different.

I was not pleased.

I staked out my claim and challenged hers. We no longer had any sort of illusion of allegiance or commonality or reason to share. This is my space, my social group, my partition. Stay the fuck out.

Something terrible happened, and angry words were exchanged. Something trivial, I’m sure. I don’t remember anymore. Funny how that is.

I didn’t speak to her again. For the rest of the year. 9 months, almost. I did not say a single word to her. I excluded her from every social event, even group events that would normally demand her inclusion. I steered my social group around her. I made my disdain for her singular and publicly acknowledged.

Days before we graduated, she offered her yearbook. The annual peace offering. No matter how bad it was before, we’d always end and start years civilly. This time, I didn’t even say no. I just walked away.

I saw her after we graduated. She was in college now, seemingly thriving. She still bothered me. Still annoying. Same grating, shrill voice. Same inability to take a joke. At least my jokes. I still disliked her. Sort of. But I was nicer to her. I talked and chatted. It was good, even. Really.

Sometime after I turned 21, we found each other online. We chatted, caught up, and shared stories about how different we were.

I apologized. I genuinely felt bad. I told her I was a ridiculous ass, and that I couldn’t believe some of the shit I pulled. She laughed, said she was over it. She couldn’t believe some of the things she said, or the things we did to each other now. I laughed. It was good.

I still talk to her every now and then, mostly about old friends, or old times. Sometimes I can’t resist throwing a dart about how somebody as sex-obsessed as she ever decided to marry at 22, or how North Carolina’s turned her into a hick. She’s become an amazing repository of old-friend information, a good source of ‘whatever happened to?’ stories, or contact information, or new gossip about old friends. We share stories and catch each other up. Weddings, new jobs, kids, who’s still a burnout stoner, who’s in jail, who’s got a new baby-mama.

You know, the usual stuff.

I had dinner two nights ago with an old mutual friend. I said that I was still in touch with her, and that, over a decade later, we’ve finally managed to be adult and civil, friendly even.

You still talk to her? That’s unbelievable.

I know, I said. I used to hate her. So much. But that was a long time ago.