Friendship: it's all a matter of perspective (Laurie Faria Stolarz)

    The topic this month is friendship. And, the story I have is about an old friend, one I hadn’t spoken to in 25 years - until just last month. 

    We'd met in France when we were studying in college. We lived together, visited museums together, danced the night away in Paris together, traveled Europe together, and had more fun and laughs than maybe any other time in my life. 

    Then, when we came back to the US, we wanted to stay in touch. Coincidentally, we didn’t live too far apart. I was north of Boston. She was south of it. We arranged to meet for dinner in the city, and then to spend the night at Boston College, where her boyfriend studied.

    Turns out, as I remember things from 25+ years ago, she and her boyfriend wanted to fix me up with her boyfriend’s roommate. Sadly, I don’t even remember his name. What I do remember is that I wasn’t interested – like, at all. 

    Why? Because he wanted me to make Swedish dishes for him on the spot (and literally began fishing for ingredients from the freezer and cupboard). He also insisted on speaking to me in Swedish, though I didn’t – and don’t – speak a word of it.

    Turns out he’d studied in Sweden and liked that I was a sliver of Swedish (thanks to my friend for sharing that bit of trivia). This guy asked me question after question about my Swedish heritage (snore, especially for him, since I’m mostly of Irish and English descent). “Are you sure?” he asked me. “I mean, you look really Swedish.”

    Not long after, we all went out to a party, where I met a guy who made me laugh (the key to my heart). Sadly, I don’t remember that guy’s name either. But, we had fun at the party (at least, I did). I was with my friend, laughing, dancing, talking, meeting people, just as we’d done in Paris.

    When the end of the night came, and we returned to her boyfriend’s apartment, it was brought to my attention that there was no place for me to sleep. I think – (though to this day I’m not completely sure) – it was an unspoken plan that I’d share a bed with her boyfriend’s roommate, Mr. Swede. I remember this option came up when bedtime rolled around. And I also remember that both the boyfriend and the roommate were annoyed when my answer was a big fat no. 

    I asked for a pillow and blanket and found myself a spot on the living room floor, beside beer cans and dirty shoes.

    But, it was fine, I wasn’t upset; and my friend came and joined me, though I’d told her she didn’t have to.

    Flash forward days, and weeks, and months, and then years; I didn’t hear from my friend. Why had she become so unresponsive?

    Unresponsive, until about a month ago. 

    A month ago, she contacted me, out of the blue, to apologize for putting me in a “horrible situation” all those years ago, on that night. She said the story had kept her up at night, over the years, haunting her in the wee hours of the morning. 

    I assured her that all was fine, that my memories of that night were of the party, the laughs, that guy’s amusing (to me, anyway) obsession for all-things Swedish. I also reminded her of how she came and slept beside me on the living room floor like the friend I knew and loved.

    With the distance of more than 25 years, I can only imagine a version of the story I never – and will likely never – get. But that’s okay. I don’t really need that version. To me, it wasn’t that important (though, in retrospect, given the gravity of the way she felt, maybe it should’ve been).

    I tell this story, as it relates to writing, because stories are all a matter of perspective, aren’t they? If I were to write about that night in Boston, it’d likely be a funny retelling, complete with Swedish meatballs and krumkake, while hers would be one of sadness and regret. 

    The happy part of this story is that I met my friend for dinner in Boston just last week – and it was like old times, laughing, reminiscing, and sharing parts of one another's lives that we hadn’t yet seen. 

    I'm not sure if we'll meet again or where we'll go from here. As with any good story, we’ll see what happens. To be continued...