There's not any kind of intro I can begin with to go into this post. The only thing I really can do is to start. There's nothing really emotionally deep I want to share. There's only a lesson I want to teach, and hope others learn. And in order to do that, I have to tell a story. It'a a story that lasts for about three years. I'll condense it, don't worry. So here's where the story begins: third grade.
At the beginning of third grade, I was beyond panicked. In my class, I knew not one person. Literally not one person. It's not an easy thing, to make friends, be separated from them, and have new people forced upon you, especially when you're nine years old. So within my class, I temporarily "befriended" a girl for a total of three days. After that, I had become friends with some other people in the class. They're not really important to the story. The important person is the girl that I had met in a special class, called "Advanced Connections", where you were given extra projects to complete if the work in class was boring you because of it's simplicity. This girl wasn't in my regular everyday class. Anyway, the first time I had met this person... I hadn't really met her. I took one look at her. A good look, yes, but I hadn't even heard her speak. And yet I judged her, just by the way she first presented herself. I decided that she was a conceited, stuck-up, know-it-all. She hadn't been at our school before then, she was new this year. I decided that I would never be her friend. I honestly remember sitting in that portable classroom, at a wooden circular table with three other people, looking to my diagonal left, and looking at a girl in a purple shirt, thinking exactly that. That I would never like her.
About a month or so later, we had a new student to our regular class. It was the girl from AC. I hadn't really associated with this girl much, so my hard feelings had somewhat dissolved, but I still remembered what I thought as I first sat in that chair.
Around that time, everyone in our classroom was obsessed with a book, "The Lovely Bones". Everyone had read it, and I hadn't, because it personally scared me. I was only nine! Anyway, if you haven't read it, it's about a girl in Heaven, looking down and watching the things that the people on Earth were doing. How she died was revealed at the very beginning of the book. A man named Mr. Harvey had murdered her after raping her (the reason I didn't want to read it in 3rd grade). So anyway, since most people has read it, and even those who hadn't knew the basic storyline (or at least just the beginning), for some reason, the majority of my class decided they would make a game out of it. It was basically tag, except instead of someone being "it", they were Mr. Harvey. I found it incredibly stupid, (and I was never one to enjoy tag), so I only played maybe once or twice. Anyway, that day at recess, when everyone was playing the game, I noticed the new girl standing to the side and watching with slight confusion. I walked up to her, threw everything I had first thought out the window, and started a conversation. We swung on the swings and talked. I told her how I thought she was a know-it-all and how I was wrong. She told me she thought I was bossy, and how she was wrong. From then on, she was my best friend. We talked on the phone for at least two hours every night and did everything together. She wasn't the most popular or well-liked person. She was bullied, and I was made fun of for being her friend. She was criticized, as was I, but through the entire thing, I stood by her side. She was honestly my only friend. And I didn't really have a problem with it. Or at least, I didn't think I did. Until about a year or two later, when I realized what had been happening all along.
Ever since we had first started to be friends, she was always superior to me in knowledge. She was always the smartest, most well-liked by teachers, best writer and reader, had a broader vocabulary than I, and was MUCH more up-to-date in current events: she watched the news daily (they didn't have cable). And this was in 3rd grade. So basically, I was always inferior to her, and hidden behind her shadow. And not only did I know it, she did also. So anytime I would try to correct her on her grammar, or math problem, she wouldn't allow it. Even if I was right, I wasn't allowed to make a correction. Especially on writing. If I told her a better way to write something, she blew up in my face and told me how wrong I was. Everything stayed the same, everything was her way. The same thing happened when it came to her doing something I didn't like. When she would say she's so smart, or so funny, I would tell her to stop. I would tell her she was being self-centered and it was annoying me. She never said one thing good to, or about me. It was all about her. So I'd tell her that, and again, she would deny everything. There was never one apology from her. There was never a time when she admitted she was wrong. But of course, I would do something wrong, she'd call me out on it, and I'd be apologizing. It was never a two way street. I would give and she would take. I would simply "forgive" her, just for the sake of talking to each other again. But nothing was ever resolved, nothing finished. We would forget it and move on. We did that for 2 years, throughout 3rd and 4th grade, and even part of 5th. That's where everything really went wrong.
In 5th grade, she was again in my class. We were "friends" for about half of the year, until I decided that I had enough. Everything had built up, everything that she did and I never really forgave her for, every time she put me down, every time that she was basically a bad friend and she never apologized for, had come together and took over me. Suddenly, I stopped. I stopped talking to her, I stopped sitting with her, doing things on the weekends, being with her. I stopped putting up with her. I stopped being her friend. And without warning to her. I didn't tell her what she did, or why I was done. It was just a decision, an agreement, an understanding that I made to myself to stop. I was never mean to her. I never bullied her, or had people turn against her. I wasn't the nicest to her. At the sight of her, I would roll my eyes and turn away. She got none of my regards. I never said hello or goodbye. I pretended like she wasn't there. She was confused for a little while, but eventually caught on and stopped trying. All of those scars and problems had built upon each other to where I couldn't see the light of it anymore. I had just stopped.
Eventually, about a month or two later, I received a letter in the mail from her, saying exactly this:
"Dear Emily,
I'm sorry for whatever I did. Can we be friends again?"
And her name signed at the bottom. I was startled at the letter's appearance. She had pretended to brush all of this off so easily. I thought about the letter, and even considered making amends. But I was then reminded of everything she had done, and convinced myself not to. A new reason had also developed. Instead of asking what she had done wrong, she had simply said, "sorry for whatever I did". She didn't care what she did, as long as she was forgiven. That irritated me, because of what "sorry" really means. It means that you understand what you did, that it was wrong, and you will try your absolute hardest not to do it again. She wasn't sorry for what she did. She couldn't care less what she did. As far as she was concerned, as long as we were friends again, she could continue doing it, just because she apologized. She wasn't sorry I was hurt, or angered. She was sorry I no longer wanted to be friends. She was sorry I didn't want to talk to her. After realizing this, I blew off the letter, and pretended like it hadn't happened. There was no way I was forgiving her.
Two years later, and I'm still not friends with her. I no longer have any hard feelings towards her; those evaporated into thin air. I'm not mad anymore, or irritated. Time heals all wounds, yes, but not in the way that you may hope, or think. Instead of completely ignoring her, or being even the slightest bit mean to her, we're cordial. I don't have her phone number, we wouldn't choose to be partners with each other in class, we never talk, unless we have to. But when we have to, it seems fake. It's all smiles and small talk. There are no laughs, no conversations. I'm glad we're not mad at each other anymore, but it's kind of awkward. Ever since then, it's like the whole thing was brushed under the rug, but instead of being fully swept underneath, to the point of no reveal, it's still lumpy. You can tell it's there. Although we may pretend like it never happened, it did. If someone asked me who my best friend in 3rd grade was, I would probably say it was someone else, although that's not the truth at all. Back then, she was the closest thing to a twin I had. It's kind of sad now that we would probably lie about it if we were given the occasion. You can know someone better than their family does, and suddenly be total strangers, with a strange understanding between each other. It's weird, because every time we talk, it's like we know something happened. We both want to say something about it, but we don't. We want to pretend like it's over, but it's not. The memory of what happened will forever be engraved in our minds, and conversations.
And every time I think about it, I can't help but wonder what would've happened if things were different. Maybe if she had listened to me hen I told her what was wrong, and tried to fix it, I wouldn't have gotten so mad. Or when I got so mad, if I would've told her I was done, and why, we wouldn't have stopped talking. If we hadn't stopped talking, maybe we'd still be friends—even best friends. If we were still friends, maybe that memory wouldn't be in the way of everything we do involving each other. Maybe a lot of things would've happened. The reason everything did happen is because she wouldn't accept what she did wrong. And then I wouldn't tell her. Maybe if we took initiative and tried to fix it, we could have. Actually, I know that we could have. I didn't though. And neither did she. If you want to resolve things, you can.
Someone once told me, "Every friendship has it's scars. You can't pretend like they didn't happen, because they did." And I personally don't believe that. Real and truthful friendships don't have scars. Because once a scar is set in stone, more pile on. And eventually, you can't see what's underneath. Scars only happen when things aren't resolved, and you're truthfully not forgiven. People can say they forgive you, just for the sake of talking to each other again, but until they really believe that you're sorry (and until you really are sorry), forgiveness isn't forgiveness. And if it's never resolved, then you have a scar. And that makes it easier to create more and more, until that's all there is. And even the person that you once knew the most... you don't.
If you care about your friendship, and don't want this to happen to you, actually resolve things. If this person means as much to you as you say, prove it to them by not causing problems. And if you do by chance make a mistake, really apologize. Understand what you did, and why you shouldn't do it. That's when you're sorry. And if someone wronged you, tell them. They don't know what they did until you tell them it bothers you. If they're really a good friend, they'll be sorry and try their absolute best to fix it. Then, once they're sorry, forgive them. Really and truthfully do. Don't let it become a scar. Don't let it become what it did for me and her. Don't let things become awkward. Don't let something stupid cost you your entire friendship. Only you can make the decision to fix things.
So fix them.
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