The Sort of Friend

I've often wondered where I fit in friendships. What role do I play. What do I fulfill. Sometimes all too aware of what I can't- either by distance or by disposition. I don't live next door. No, I won't go clubbing with you. Movies are expensive. Is this a good movie? Are you really sure? When. What time? I don't want to drive down there... (although in my defense my parched waters make me protective of my indulgences) Can't you get us 'comps?' Is that an LA thing? Comps. (Complimentary)... Someone must know someone so i can get in for free. No? Then I'm gonna go watch cable. Support the arts? Are you kidding- on my salary? Everyone I know is doing a show.

This Monday I went to see a friend that I've developed a comfortable pattern with. Perhaps a little too. I am her craft/creative/art/smart/bigword saying/cash-strapped/often jobless and in need of a TAB friend. I come over: we bike ride, we go for lunch, we watch tv (usually all day), we make ... whatever. I get invited to her holiday parties, I often see her family for a quilt show, an occassional lunch or dinner- and very rarely will she invite me to shop, to a bar, show or an outing with her other friends. That's the key, and thus I am containered. She is busy. She is scheduled. And I reside in a special place like summer and hiatus. It is not necessarily an unfavorable place to be. Because hanging out is a beautiful thing.

She and I were friends in highschool- and into college I heard from her once in a very blue moon. She was not in a good place- mostly. I always sent her Christmas cards. Into gradschool I heard somewhat more of her and now the last three years I've been back we've renewed and developed a friendship. But more likely I'm a close cousin to her entire clan. Her mom and dad know me. And I'm that fond recalling of a summer day a long time ago- She is one of the k-12 friends. I call her by her school name- which has morphed into another variation of the reigning queen of england. I know her brother and sisters. And I think they all fairly like me. Usually I pull people into my family but I rarely get to experience the otherside. I think this takes a particular kind of trust. I knew something was up when one of my friends of 10+ years never invited me around- either I was freakish or her family was. It's a potential powderkeg. I might say something. They might say something. And I often wonder what kind of friend is it better to be? Safe or site-specific.

QofE is, shall we say, guarded- to put it mildly. So I don't often pry and she's not what I would call loquacious. So months might pass before I discern her state of mind or the current events of her life- her loves, her out of loves, her frustrations and pains, biopsies (everything and all quietly sealed away.) From me? I don't know. With her I tend not to be paranoid, usually, but what can I say. So slowly I'm getting to know her- this girl I've known my whole life but somewhere developed into someone similar to the person I knew with day to day habits and experiences I know nothing about.

So came the weekend. Sunday night. She was on my side of the hill- and in LA this is very important. And this is probably why I don't see her more often. Impenetrable traffic. So she said, I'll come get you. I have to stop by the hospital (they don't know what's wrong) to see my niece. Then I'll bring you back Tuesday morning. Saving money on gas? (like $30 only paying for 9.3 gallons?!) Sure I said. Then, Do you want me to go up with you? Ya. Cool (and in the elevator) oh hey- when I get old pull the plug okay? I say. I hate hospitals, she says. Then we get to the door. I hear her say, M is here. M is here?! (enthusiastically) Yah, yah, she can come in. I look thru the little window to see QofE's 2 sisters, and the step-dad. I don't know entirely if the niece sang out her approval but I couldn't at this point refuse to enter- due to awkwardness, mortification or my utter avoidance of illness.

The 21year old niece doesn't look well- not deathbed ill, but definitely not well. Everyone seemed to be tenuously busying themselves with talk, cake, jokes about hospitals and wall colors, while their eyes were rimmed with something else. I hid myself behind a chair and tried to be inconspicuous. Sort of looking at the niece when she talked. Not addressing her but talking to her aunts, joining in on the occassional joke- because what the hell was I going to say? Nice to meet you. Feel better. Let me take the time to point out what everyone is trying to keep you from, and undo all this song and dance. It all seemed rather trite and lame when she was biting with frustration at the morphine making her nose itch or not being able to change positions and feeling unattractive, with tubes running out of everywhere. Make yourself invisible, that's what I tried. So then QofE and I find out that her sister was in the hospital once for a tubal pregnancy- wait she says, you 2 said it was for a cyst- I wasn't going to be able to keep it anyway, the aunt says. Oh, QofE says. Oh my god I think.

On the way out I ask the step-dad what's wrong and he tells me what he is mentally able to tell me. I say, I'll pray for her. Then a moment later, what breaks him: I say, that sucks. He says, Yes. Yes it does suck. And he walks away. The sister I know better says, Goodbye. It was good to see you. And on the freeway I ask QofE, Um- really- I hope it was okay that i was here, tell her I hope she feels better. What's wrong again? Well everything she has is just symptomatic of something... it could be cancer. She's been sick and fatigued for a month. And here I thought I was visiting the marginally ill, but I'd slipped in with QofE like a pillow, as a part of the family, into something very serious- a type of friend that she can take to the hospital and to the home that she shares with someone that she no longer loves. And I am depressed with her into a sadness that empathy brings- and then we sleep and have breakfast and go for a bikeride.