The Pupil’s Teachings.
Seven years ago, we met up (at the time, unknown to me) last time.
She entered the bar and sat down next to me. I offered her a drink as always, which she denied. She then told me without any emotion: “I came to tell you that you can consider our friendship finished.” She left immediately after saying this without even looking back at me. An extreme and unexpected action she had taken. Astonished and perplexed, I watched her go. Messages and chats she ignored. I unfriended her in a fit of bitterness and resentment and was sorry as I could not find her profile afterwards.
The unknown reason why she did it consumed me for years.
Then, in a stroke of luck, I happened to find her Facebook profile in my friend suggestions.
I decided to contact her.
Was it anger?
I shot a quick: “Hi, what’s up. Remember me?” in her inbox, trying to be carefree and funny while deciding if or not I would add her to the social media platform. As an ex-friend, an acquaintance, or as a total stranger. She responded with a simple “Yeah.” Not exactly the conversation opener I was hoping for, but I would ride this out by now until the end. There was no hesitation when I asked her: “Still angry?”
She took minutes to answer, and she decided on: “Angry? Why would I be angry?” I shortly repeated our last shared memory. “I was not angry,” she typed back. I decided to withhold my response as I noticed she was writing more.
The revelation.
“I guess I was in a weird place then. I remember little between you and me,” She paused. Then she wrote: “I don’t even remember ever saying that to you.” I was dumbstruck. What did she drink, snort, eat, inject that made her forget all that happened? There was a deep history between us, and she brushed it aside with the notion of time and forgetfulness? We had been friends and more for the better part of our lives. I was not buying it. I pushed: “Why? I know you remember.”
“I don’t,” she snapped.
“You do,” I snapped back.
It went back and forth until she finally broke and said: “I didn’t want to hurt you. I knew you still had a thing for me. I thought at the time it was the best way to go about it. To minimise the damage done. I was moving away and didn’t want you to know, to save you the hurt.” I had to agree with her on the subject of love. There was still this hint of love when I had a few beers in me. A drunkard’s love, but nothing more than some forgotten, slumbering feelings. More petite than love, more significant than friendship. All that had evaporated the instant she left me behind.
“Alright,” I answered, a sudden apathy taking hold of me, and I closed the conversation. I did not doubt her intentions, yet I did not believe them — the bitterness of the passing years. The thoughts I had had, had been disrespectful, I knew now. I felt a vicarious shame for my younger self.
The pupil teaches the master.
Days later, she reinitiated the conversation: “I have fond memories between us. While I ended the friendship between us, there is not a single memory I would label as bad.” I gave her a thumbs-up; I was not motivated to continue the conversation. My curiosity had burned and burdened me.
It was the next thing she said that stunned me. “You were always there for me. You changed me for the better. I wanted to because I cared about you! I had to let go because the knowledge of my move-out would have hurt you even more.”
I began a reply a few times, each time deleting it. She continued: “The end of a friendship is not always negative. Amusingly, in my eyes, I was your pupil, you my teacher. You taught me what I needed to know to get forward in life, and I had to let you go to make you advance in life.”
I gave her a thumbs-up, closed the conversation.
“Wise-nose. When did you ever become this smart?” Friend request sent.
