I saw an old friend of mine last weekend. We weren’t close in high school, but I always liked her. She was sweet as hell, could run the soccer ball well, and still go party at a concert afterwards. There’s a lot of good energy in this woman and I was happy and thankful to connect with her after about two decades, and she was kind enough to come meet me. I’ll see her again soon, which is great!
But weeks before I ran into her, I met up with a ghost of my past. Technically it was a ghost of a friend I hadn’t talked to for over a decade. Without going into many details, this person crafted a story for her world that was false in mine. So false, the characters would have never been able to practice their scenes together. Yet, in her mind it was a reality.
The saddest part is that the details of the storyline never came directly from her. At the time this all happened, it was her birthday. I tried to call her many times to see what she’d like to do, but she never returned my calls. She wouldn’t speak to me, sticking strongly to her fabrication. I only learned of her magnificent lie from others.
The irony of the whole thing is that I kept my friendships with the others, all of whom are part of my life today. The only time that she tried to contact me later, she did the lovely explanation of, “I was going through a hard time and I didn’t mean to hurt you.” No, I did not respond.
And then a few weeks ago she appeared at one of my places of calm, Sunday mornings at the farmers’ market. I thought it may be a fluke, but then she was there the next week, and the week after that. Grrr.
I realize that I have choices, two of which include ignoring her, and the other acknowledging her. At my age, acknowledging her is the mature thing to do, though I really wish she never descended upon my little place of solitude.
Next time I see her, wish me strength.