The Silence of a Friend

A friendship that was on its last legs has seriously stumbled, leaving it struggling on the ground with no assistance, where it may soon wither away from inattention. Or at least I think so. I wouldn’t be averse to some input.

Friend L has been in my life for about 10 years. She’s been featured a couple of times in my blog, mostly for me to express annoyance with her latest shenanigans—minor shenanigans to be sure, but annoying nonetheless. All said shenanigans presuppose that I love what she loves with the same intensity, so I won’t be bothered by her enthusiasm for something I’ve already told her I dislike. Does that make sense? No? Welcome to my world.

Let me preface all of this by saying that many, many people marvel at how I’ve been able to stand L for so many years. I am not joking when I write that—everyone from my mother (who knew L before I did) to my old boss (who “stole” L’s job, according to L [side note: L wasn’t qualified for the job]) are astounded by my capacity to put up with her moods. She runs hot and cold—one day she’s sing-song happy and bugging you with her giddy highs; the next day she enters a room throwing things about and not speaking until you coax her out of her mood. How did I put up with it? I disassociated myself from her moods. They rarely had anything to do with me so I simply treated her as if she were acting rationally, which usually led to her calming down or opening up and acting rationally. I hate having to put up with extreme cheeriness and I hate having to put up with extreme sulkiness. It’s the sulkiness that really gets me, though; give me the silent treatment one too many times and I stop talking myself. Friend L has pulled this while we were at work, while we were on a night out, when she visited me when I lived with my family. There’s nothing worse to set the family on edge than L showing up, pissy.

Anyway, recently, L’s had a rough time of it, this I acknowledge without hesitation. She had gastric bypass surgery and has had to adjust to her new body; her mother died of cancer mid-year; she just underwent cosmetic surgery. She doesn’t seem to have a lot of friends precisely because of the behaviors I’ve detailed in the above paragraph, so with one less authority figure present, her friends dwindling and male attention increasing, she’s changed a fair bit. Talking to her about her mother’s passing seems taboo; she’d rather talk about how she fits into an extra small skirt and how a man tried to give her his room number on a recent business trip (I told her that this was not flattering but she ignored my take; I’d find it insulting that anyone would think me desperate enough to have a fling while on business). Her cosmetic surgery happened very recently and it was all she could talk about for weeks. I was already annoyed by her fixation on guys and clothes coupled with her surgery that was going to make her look “fantastic” (as we’re both in or near our thirties, it’s time to move on from those topics), but she lost my infinite patience when, in the rare moments she was discussing her mother’s death, I ventured forth that my grandmother had passed away in January (this here tells you how close she is to me, that I didn’t even think to tell her when my grandmother died). My friend’s answer to my grandmother’s death?

“So let’s stop talking about depressing stuff. What am I going to wear to your wedding? This surgery will make me look so good that day.”

I nearly lost it. Measuring myself very carefully, I excused myself from the conversation and have avoided her since. Unfortunately there have been times when she’s been able to catch me, but rather than ask why I sound so curt and uninterested in the conversation, she would just continue talking about—you guessed it—boys, clothes and her surgery. When the surgery did roll around, I didn’t bother checking in on her. When she had back surgery while I lived in Toronto, I had flowers sent to her hospital room. This time? I found myself not caring.

I was deeply hurt. I speculated as to why she had totally ignored my grandmother’s death, not even bothering to ask if my family and I were okay. Did she think perhaps I wasn’t a good enough friend when her mother died? I did my best at the time with regular phone calls and check-ins, but with IP’s grandfather dying in the same weekend, my boyfriend needed me, too. I’m not going to apologize for standing by IP rather than flying to Michigan for my friend—after all, IP’s with me for life, so it’s going to be through thick and thin for us. Is she really that socially awkward? Perhaps, but I’ve seen her react in supportive ways for other people before. Is she, then, really that self-centered? Well . . . I’m guessing yes.

For the life of our 10 year friendship, L and her problems have been the focus. Whenever I cautiously start to mention what’s going on with me, she’s instantly bored and does the whole “enough about me, let’s talk about me!” thing that I somehow have a history of attracting. Her eyes start to wander and she gives half-hearted “uh-huhs” that help hold my tongue quickly. As soon as I’m quiet, it’s a re-launch into L’s excellent adventure. I’ve always been very hesitant to confide in L—given her mood swings, she’s capable of using information against people and has done so in the past with a few of our mutual friends. Friend Lo has always said to me that she can’t be around L unless I’m present: “You’re our glue, WordNerd; I get too nervous around her. I can’t tell what mood she’s in,” Lo will say. For 10 years I’ve been able to make a friendship with L survive, but I’m running on empty. I don’t think I can take the second adolescence she’s going through, what with its coming bad relationships and fixation on image. L’s the type of friend who will disappear as soon as she has a man in the picture, only to reappear when things go sour. I don’t have the patience to be the yo-yo shoulder on which to cry.

On Saturday night, L left me a message on my cell (I thank my lucky stars that I haven’t sent out “we’ve moved” cards yet). In the message, she petulantly tells me that, in case I was interested, her surgery went fine and that she was calling to let me know. Give her a call back, please, because she’s out of work for the next three weeks and will be bored. There was an imperious and infuriated tone of voice—how dare I not call sooner, how dare I not care? I’d better demonstrate that I care by keeping her entertained throughout her recovery.

I don’t know that I’ll call L back. IP ventures to guess that, no, I won’t call back given the tone of voice. If anyone knows what kinds of tones to use and not use with me, it’s IP. My mother suggests that yes, I do call, but not to apologize for not getting in contact sooner. And if L calls me out on not contacting her sooner, Mom urges me to be frank and state that her indifference to my grandmother’s death is a serious blow to our friendship. Mom guesses correctly that her dismissing my grandmother’s death is eating at me. While not unexpected, my grandmother’s death still weighs on my mind and I do miss her. I still cry because I’m happy she’s no longer in pain and because she had to go through so much pain. To have a woman who claims to be your best friend ignore that? To me it’s bordering on unforgivable. No way do I want this woman standing up next to my sister as a bridesmaid on my wedding day. No longer.

So now comes my decision. Do I help the friendship to its feet and treat it with patience and give it a bit of rest so that it’s strong again, or do I leave it on the ground to fail?