Nostalgia Rears Its Ugly Head

nos·tal·gia [no-stal-juh, -jee-uh, nuh-]–noun
a wistful desire to return in thought or in fact to a former time in one's life, to one's home, or to one's family and friends; a sentimental yearning for the happiness of a former place or time.

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Writing about friendship always seems to walk that dangerous line between genuine sentiment and Dawson’s Creek cliché.

So, in essence, this could go terribly wrong. It could hearken reminiscent of Holden Caulfield, The Breakfast Club, It’s a Wonderful Life, or any other modern day stereotypical commentary on coming-of-age, friendship, or quality of existence. Worse still, it could score a “5” on the AP scale, fashioned to describe things that are too “sentimental/emotional/girly/cheesy/Lynda Sorensen-esque” to handle.

Nevertheless, I think there are times in life when you pause to take stock … of where you’ve been, and of whom you’ve been there with. Of where you’re going, and of who’s going along with you. Of what you’ve learned, and of who has taught you some of the most important lessons.

Maybe -- now and then -- of who your friends were then ... and of who they are now.

I think most people would contend that it is only natural to “grow out” of friendships. Like a pair of shoes that have become too tight, too worn, and too ragged, friendships often cease to “fit” as the people embroiled in them develop and change. The courses of time and experience transform even the most sacred relationships into shells of their former selves. The three ponytailed girls riding their pink and purple bicycles around the block have long ceased being “best friends forever.” The puzzle piece heart pendants that once fit so seamlessly together simply do not anymore.

We lose people along the way. Even the ones we swore we never would.

But there are those people we will never lose.

For moments, certainly. For days, for weeks, months, even years. Maybe we toss them aside in favor of new friends, new relationships, new experiences. Maybe we forget what they have meant to us. Maybe we forget what we have meant to them.

But there are those people we will always return to -- in thought or in fact.

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I wish I could remember with greater clarity that afternoon on Courtney Smith’s front lawn. I know it was after a rehearsal, and I know it wasn’t anything other then all of us flopping down on the grass and watching the clouds pass overhead.

I never, at the time, thought it would be the beginning of something incredibly profound. Because at the time, I didn't know what the future would bring ...

... separately, as Laura, Jack, Kelly and Brendan.

And together as "best" friends.

Not all the time. Not in the ponytailed, Barbie Doll/GI Joe-playing, after school playdate sense. Not with the assumption that we will never disagree or lose touch, misunderstand or hurt each other.

But "best" because our friendship was ... and still is in so many ways ... one of the strongest, most solid things in my life.

Now, maybe it’s presumptuous or naïve of me to believe that my best friends from high school and I will always be friends. Maybe it’s just setting myself up for disappointment and hurt. Maybe there is no such thing as “friends forever.”

The thing is, I have a hard time believing anyone besides the four of us can possibly understand.

Understand … that at this very moment, I could draw you a map of the houses at 10 Georgian Lane, 25 Anthony Lane, and 27 Richmond Drive. And I could tell you that inside them at any given moment you will find Guy, Jan, Carly, Kevin, Riley, Donna, Brian, Meaghan, Sarah, Bernadette, and Larry.

… that if we were sitting at the Post Road Diner, Jack would order a coffee milkshake and Kelly would order some kind of herbal tea.

… that no matter what movie we watch, Brendan will fall asleep during it.

… that Kelly is a horrible bowler, despite Jack’s plights of “like a pontoon,” and that Brendan isn’t much better.

… that an 88 (89) piece, a blue 70-something Mercedes, and a gold Saturn are about as bad a car as a high school student can drive. Thank God for the blue convertible.

… that driving back from Reading, Connecticut singing Black Sabaath at the top of our lungs while Brendan was high on Chris Lee’s caffeine pills (but then again I might have been too, because “look Brendan … it’s pretty!”) was one of the funniest times of my life.

… that myriad conversations at Pear Tree Point, on the pier at the Noroton Yacht Club, in the halls/classrooms/parking lots of D-Wing, or at the bridge at the end of Arrowhead Way are still some of the most poignant, real, amazing conversations I’ve ever had.

You’d have to understand … the Virgin Mary appearing in a lava lamp, the fateful massages, the penis picture, Cindy Lesbian, the 4th Grade production of Oklahoma, Truth or Dare, altos and tenors, Sketch H-Day, purple and yellow bowling shirts, Kelly and Brendan, Laura and Jack, Whinnem’s office, Shawgo’s santas, grapefruit juice cravings, KWP, cold plums, NYC pier, pretty patrol, and so much more.

You’d just have to understand … the amount of time we spent together, the things we went through with one another, the secrets we told each other, and all of the nights we stayed up talking and laughing and crying.

And yeah, a lot of it was teenage angst. A lot of it was very dramatic and over the top. A lot of it was total bullshit.

But most of it was … the cementing of the most sincere friendship I have known to this point in my life.

For good or for bad, it was one of those amazing friendships where there is much agreement, much contention, and an incredible amount of genuine love for one another.

If the love hadn’t been there … it wouldn’t have mattered.

It wouldn’t have mattered when Brendan ditched me for Senior Prom. It wouldn’t have mattered when Kelly realized that she and Brendan just weren’t meant to be. It wouldn’t have mattered that Jack and I stopped talking (more than once). Or that Kelly and I weren’t really friends for a period of time during college.

But it does matter.

It matters to me how Kelly is doing in D.C., and whether she’s working herself to death, and if her parents have sold their house in Darien, and if her sisters are doing well.

It matters to me how Brendan is doing in New York, and how much closer he is to becoming a real estate mogul, and when the next time he’s going to Newport is, and how his parents are doing.

And it matters to me how Jack is doing at Fordham, and whether he’s drowning in case law, and if Carly is an All-American at Colgate yet, or if Kevin is the star of the baseball team, or if Riley has discovered boys.

It matters … even though I don’t see them every day like I did in high school. It matters, even though it’s been a few days since I’ve talked to Kelly and a few weeks since I’ve talked to Brendan, and until recently, a few months since I’d talked to Jack.

That -- time, distance, disconnect -- is the one thing that doesn't seem to matter.

Really amazing friends don’t need constant, frequent correspondence. When they meet or talk again, their friendship is as real as ever. And as comfortable as ever.

Even if there was a time when it was a lot of hurt and misunderstanding.
Even if there was a time when it was a lot of anger and resentment.
For some reason, it’s easy to forget all of that stuff when you remember the gift of each other’s presence.

Not everyone can just fall back into friendship.

Yet, we seem to be able to.

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We've been friends for 10 years, even though combinations of us haven’t always been on speaking terms, or in touch with one another. Circumstances being what they are, I still say we’ve been friends the whole time.

And I think that 10 years of friendship adds up to the realization that I don’t need to talk to these people everyday, or see them every week, or even know exactly what they’re up to right at this moment.

All I need to know is what I do know:

I have three people in my life that I am one hundred percent completely convinced I can turn to if I need them. That when I don’t know who else to call, I can call Kelly. Or Brendan. Or Jack. And they will understand ... because they know. They know me in a way that only the three of them could.

And I know -- in that part of you that just knows things with absolute certainty -- that they will be there. No matter how much time has passed between us. No matter how different we may be today than we were at 15.

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I have made many friends in the years since the heyday of the “axis” … I have “new” best friends. And I love them. And they add myriad blessings to my life.

But they will never replace Kelly, Jack, and Brendan.

When we honestly ask ourselves which people in our lives mean the most to us, we often discover that it is the people who, instead of giving advice or solutions, have chosen rather to share our pain and our joy. The people who have been with us in moments of despair and confusion. Who stay with us at times of uncertainty and fear. Who can accept the fact that they may not have the answer, but who will sit and hold our hands until we figure it out. And those who will celebrate our achievements, revel in our successes, and encourage our dreams.

At its very core, I believe that our friendship is one based on the sincere truth that all of us really and truly care about each other. No matter the water under the bridge, no matter the scars and memories. No matter the time or distance that has passed between us.

“Friends forever,” … it's one of those dangerous clichés.

But clichés can have a ring of truth to them.
And "forever friends" may not be so far-fetched after all.

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“Though we drifted apart in distance I still think of you as being right here.
And although we have many new friends, it is our friendship
that means the most to me.”