Everyone has a friend that moved on. We all know the one - maybe she swore she hated cheerleaders, until she joined the pom-pom squad the next year and never spoke to you again. Or maybe it was a little more subtle, like a girl I used to know. We grew up together, shared important hobbies and traits in common, grew closer with time, and, then bit by bit, not so close after all.
Now, I can't call her a friend. I know her struggles, her family life, her love life, her values. But she couldn't say the same thing about me. For a long time, I was the only one asking questions, showing interest, until I stopped, and the friendship stopped.
She has a new life, one that is clean, and bright, and shining. There's a new house she calls home, a new school, a new side of the country. She has a new image, new values, new morals. Pretty soon she'll have a new name. I don't fault her for any of - I don't agree with everything she's done, but that's why it's her life and not mine. She's grown up to be strong, resilient, joyful, and loving, for others. She is the kind of person I would like to call a friend, if she were one to me.
I can't help but think I, along with others who used to be close to her, were part of a careful culling of her old identity. She kept only the things that fit into her new, improved self - I'm sure there were a lot of people that didn't make the cut. I'm sure there were a lot of people who probably didn't deserve to. I'd like to think I'm not one of them.
I am happy for her, for the new life and the new self that she built. But I can't help but wonder, did she ever consider as she laid the bricks for her new life, as she closed doors behind her, as she let messages go unanswered and calls go unreturned, that we would have liked to come with her? That maybe, she could have helped us be 'better,' too?
