I met her in coach-pitch softball. We were five years old. She was the star. She was the "pitcher" beside her father, the coach of our Pepsi team. She caught every ball that came to her. I thought she was amazing. I was so shy. I wouldn't have had the courage to catch the ball even if it landed in my glove. I remember my job was to "toss the ball to shortstop," the girl two feet away from me.
I didn't see her for a long time after that. When we met again our freshman year, we became fast friends. As high school proceded and temptations presented themselves, the test was in session on our characters. We were very different from one another. She had a job, sometimes more than one. I never had to work. I think some would even say I was quite spoiled. I didn't really have any responsibilities but to go to school. My parents always took care of me and my needs. She took care of herself for the most part, or at least it seemed to me. I had a boyfriend and she had a lot of boyfriends. In hindsight, I think I felt a little jealous of her. She lived so recklessly and free, yet she seemed in control of her life. She always had a smile on her face. It seemed like she never felt strain from her wildness or felt fear of consequences. She never worried about anything, not like I did. I worried that I'd get in trouble. I worried that I might hurt someone. I worried that my decisions would affect me negatively in the future. I think that's how I've managed to stay on track in my life--worry, fear. That sounds pathetic. I wish I was more daring. But I think there is such a thing as good, healthy fear. This is not to say that I haven't made my share of mistakes and bad desicions. I've made plenty. But I can usually sniff out a bad situation. Or at least I used to think so.
I always knew she had a sneaky way. No one is happy every day, are they? Is that smile really real? I wondered about it, but when I was around her, it was contagious. The smile would make me feel all warm and fuzzy and I would forget my suspicions.
She married young, right after high school, and I stayed at home with my parents while I was in college, even through graduate school. I learned a lot from hanging out with her while she did her wifely duties. I learned a few cooking basics and tricks. I'd help her clean, or just talk to her while she did. I looked up to her. I was proud of her. I thought she had it all together. She paid the bills. She balanced the checkbook. She worked hard from the age of 16 and on. She had it all it seemed, a husband, a house, the adult life that I wanted. I felt like I was waiting and waiting, and my life was on hold while I was in college. A lot was happening, but it was internal, nothing tangible that I could see or touch in my life to show for it.
When things finally started happening in my life, I noticed that she didn't seem to notice. I guess a wife's work is never done. She was too busy. She didn't want to talk about or acknowledge significant life events, like when my parents built a house outside of town and I moved with them. It was exciting, but she kept reminding me: "It isn't your house." She wouldn't come see where I lived for the longest time. She kept the same smile on her face, but her eyes were cold. Then, there was my engagement, my graduation, my pregnancy, the birth of our twins. None of them seemed to pique her interest. They were just things that caused her to have to stop and look at needy LeeAnn. Maybe she thought I wanted her praise, or maybe she felt patronized some how. I thought I was gracious about her life events. Maybe I wasn't. She participated when she was called to do so. She was a bridesmaid in our wedding. She came to the baby shower. But, I felt like she only did because she knew that if she didn't, I would be very upset.
I think she is unhappy inside. I don't think she is jealous of me. I think she has grown numb from all the pain in her life. I think she smiles because that's how she copes. I think she's in a lot of pain, and her smile helps her forget. So now, even though she has hurt me deeply, I forgive her. I forgive her for not coming to see us when we were in the hospital for a month with our preemies, for not coming to see them for months and months after their birth and homecoming. I forgive her for blasting my husband and me after they bought a new house, and I didn't come to see it. That's right; I stooped to her level. I didn't think she deserved to have me rush right over and support her when she hadn't done the same for me. I regret it.
The long and tired chapter of "Friend or Foe?" is over for me and I give up. I hope we both learned from our relationship. Maybe she learned to acknowledge her pain somehow. If that missle she launched at me from across the ocean of silence made her feel released in any way from her pain, then I'm glad.
I should've smiled. I shouldn't be so damned transparent. I should've put on the happy face and risen above my pain and her pain.
But I have never been very good at disguises.
