Being a not-so-good friend.

I’m pretty sure I was eating Saladas when Lorraine told me she was moving. It was lesson 6, right after lunch, and the lesson before lesson 7, the final, and best, lesson of the day. We had a free lesson, and I found myself sitting cross legged on one of the bench seats near the canteen.

My heart broke a little that day.

Fate would have it that Lorraine still stayed in town for another year but during that first discussion we thought she only had a few months before heading off. None of my friends had moved away before. And, worst of all, Lorraine was my number one best girlfriend. We liked the same stuff (even the same boys), and we did church stuff together and worried about the same things. I didn’t want her to go.

And now I’m all grown up and I still wish things like that. I wish we could keep the people we love with us. I envy people who live in the same area their whole lives. When my daughter was born I wanted to move back home where I knew other people who had just had babies. I wrote a letter to a friend once, telling her that I hoped we could live next door to each other so our kids could be friends.

But, how life changes everything.

I’m not doing this whole motherhood thing by myself. I have lots of great girlfriends. If I needed help I know that there are a handful of people who I could really rely on. It doesn’t bother me that must of my friends aren’t parents, we are all at really different stages.

This year though I have been the bad friend.

The one who doesn’t phone back.

The one who leaves messages unread for weeks, sometimes for months.

The one who knows someone is going through a hard time and has good intentions of helping, but just can’t.

I’m not the girl who is there for everyone. (To be honest, I never was. I’m just there for my peeps.)

And now I find myself being the one who asks for help. Who swallows her pride often. Who schedules things months in advance, or who can only work with a few hours notice. I don’t like being that person. There are things I do that make it okay. Like, I try to be on time. I don’t mind being the present bringer organiser lady. I try to get to stuff that matters, and learn to let go when I just can’t make it.

I don’t know what happens next.

I kind of want to just go back to eating Saladas and worrying about my friend moving interstate. And, if I couldn’t go there, I’d want to go back to all the times I’ve been a shitty friend, and improve on it. Or, at least, write back to text messages. We don’t get do overs though.

(There are always Saladas.)

Written by

I like books, rubber ducks, 90s pop music and putting words on paper. Wrote a thesis on romance. Tea and learning tarot.

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