Harmony in the Cacophony

Dear Jen

When my parents decided to pull up roots and hastily replant them in Sterling City, I lost my already tenuous grasp on life, becoming an anchorless vessel tossed violently at sea. The reality of moving did not take hold in my teenage mind because I was conditioned to put on a brave face when challenged with uncertainty. I remember talking to those around us before the move. My friends at school cried and wrote their phone numbers on lined notebook paper hastily torn from their school binders. My neighbors lamented that their best babysitter would now be seventy-five miles away. At church, one of the kind ladies I sang with in the choir told me she was praying for me to find one special friend at my new school.

Starting a new school in a new town was terrifying. I had never experienced the disorientation that comes with being around over a thousand people and not knowing a single one. While I knew nobody, they all knew me as “The New Girl”. At lunch, I stood along the wall, holding my obnoxiously large winter coat and backpack, heavy with brand new school supplies. I stood out like a monstrous insect trying to remain inconspicuous on a white ceiling in broad daylight. I searched the crowd in vain for a familiar face and tried my best not to cry. I thought about my “one special friend” and wished for them to magically appear and ask me to sit at their table. As a current high school teacher, I now realize just how egocentric teenagers are and how futile my hopes were in that frenzied lunchroom.

Eventually, I made some friends, but overall high school was socially and emotionally devastating. During those four years, my mother’s mental health disintegrated. The change of moving was too much for her and she never recovered. The beautiful new home we lived in soon became a clutter-filled mess, just like the house we moved from on Summer Sunset Lane. What hopes I had of a fresh start gradually dissolved into a nightmare of soiled laundry, counters filled with grimy dishes, and piles of stuff covering every floor. At school, my façade was friendly and funny as I pretended to be normal. I started working thirty hours a week so that I could pay for clothes, makeup, and sometimes groceries. I became the cleaner and caretaker for the family as my mother ultimately relinquished her responsibilities. As I went through the motions of 9th to 12th grade, I fleetingly wondered about my “one special friend”. I had a group of kids I hung around with that I’d met in concert choir, but they were friends with part of me as I only showed them what I thought they wanted to see. They never came to my house and if they did, they did not come inside.

When I look back at those four years, I remember knowing you casually through other acquaintances. I’m sure we talked once or twice when I was a manager for the softball team, and one afternoon, you drove me home from practice in your burgundy Toyota Camry. We passed each other in the halls, and you sat at the lunch table near the trophy cases with the kids in the Wrangler jeans with the round Skoal circles worn into their back pockets. I thought of you as the “country girl” with the big blue eyes.

Senior year, we had English class together with Mrs. Saracini. I sat on one side of the room with the chatty popular girls, though I was by no means popular. I was nice enough and they did not mind having me in their orbit for that one class every other day. You sat in a quieter place in the classroom and mostly talked with those around you. When the Army recruiter visited our class and asked about our plans for after graduation, I remember looking over at you when we both raised our hands to indicate we were going to Virginia University after graduation. Throughout all four years of high school, none of our interactions lasted longer than a few minutes, but I remember knowing who you were. At the time, our lives were on similar yet separate paths. Knowing now your significance in my life makes me wish I had done more to acknowledge you then. I long to honor the safe harbor created by your unwavering presence.

While seemingly random, life finds a way of harmonizing. Out of a cacophony of moments emerges purpose and meaning. Becoming your college roommate is the first time I felt safe at home. It was the first time I had unwavering support and someone to share my struggles with instead of handling everything for everyone on my own. We held each other up through heartbreak, academic challenges, flat tires, new puppies, and all the other storms that come with young adulthood. With my basic needs met, I was able to find my path and the pieces of my beautiful life came together. You taught me unconditional love; something I’d been missing my entire life.

Our paths diverged as we became professionals, wives, and mothers. You moved south and I moved north, but despite distance and time, we maintain our friendship. Over miles and years of separation, each reunion forges deeper the bond. Our children love each other as siblings and watching their blossoming friendship makes me so appreciative of your propinquity in my life. The love our families share is one of the greatest gifts and I now know that you are the “one special friend” prayed for all those years ago.