My Dear Friend Jenny
Sometimes, in life, you meet people that are just… special. Something else. You see them, there in the crowd, the way they walk, the way they talk, the way they pick off a leaf that fell on their fluffy pink sweater, and something tells you that you are seeing something truly original. You approach them, you see that something behind their eyes, and as they toss their hair and tell you their name, you realize that you are looking at just the tip of an endlessly deep iceberg.
For me, that was Jenny. Even in high school, she was already so complete. There was a wholeness and direction behind her every move that I could have only dreamed of. Even when she was saying completely regular things—what she bought, where she went, how her boyfriend took her to the movies—with the way she said it, you could tell she meant more by it than anyone else. She meant more by everything. When she wore that pink sweater that all the other girls complimented her on, she soaked in the praise and then gave me a meaningful look because she knew that I knew that this fashion choice was not at all arbitrary. She wore pink as a subversion, as irony, as a mockery of expectations, and maybe, as an expression of her trapped intellect.
Every single thing she said was a joke, a piece of performance art, and I often was the only one to get it. That was my role. It did hurt at times. She’d be laughing with her friends, and I walked behind them like a lonely puppy, staring into their backs. She was so funny, so clever, yet I often felt like I wasn’t allowed to talk to her much. But then she’d look back at me, I saw her eyes, and I knew that no matter what it looked like, I really was special to her. I’d smile at her, she’d turn back to her group, and I’d spend the rest of the day thinking about how lucky I was to know her.
Despite our deep connection, we did have our troubles. Looking back, it was all my fault. There’s this one particular incident that still gives me shivers. It was my 18th birthday party. Well, it wasn’t much of a party. I invited my parents, but they were too busy to come. And besides them, Jenny. My dear, dear friend Jenny. She arrived quite late, I almost thought she wouldn’t. But of course she did. She gifted me a lipstick with the price tag still glued on. It was a strong color, the “Pink Stunner,” as the brand called it. Jenny must have known that I would have never worn a color like this. I tried to express to her that I knew that this was simply a joke, perhaps a jab at the beauty industry and how it often gives us things we don’t truly need, and she laughed. And I laughed. And so we joked around, for once, just the two of us. This is one of my happiest memories.
But of course, I ruined it. I got a bit too happy, too playful. I saw a spray bottle on the table, probably left by my mother when she was cleaning. Without thinking, I grabbed it and sprayed what I thought was water right into Jenny’s face. It was disinfectant.
She shrieked, and I apologized, apologized, apologized so much. I got on my knees to ask for forgiveness, but she was already getting up to leave. As she was walking out the door, she called me a couple really nasty things. But I knew she didn’t mean anything bad by it. She never did. We were friends, after all.
After this incident, I wanted to atone, but she refused to talk to me. I could tell that I have hurt her deeply. We had a connection, and for once, she was having fun with someone who knew how special she was, but then I had to ruin it. So, so stupid. And for what? I’m quite sure that even if it was water, she would have stopped talking to me, because it was just so childish, so below her level. For the rest of the school year, I put notes on her desk, apologizing for what I had done, but she never responded. And she was right to do so.
I was sad that we didn’t hang out anymore. I felt bad for her, not because I was so great or anything, but because I was the only one who truly understood her. At first glance, she seemed so happy with her other friends, but I knew she was dying on the inside. All because of my stupid mistake.
After high school, we went to different colleges. I didn’t see Jenny for years, but I never truly forgot about her. The way she talked, the way she walked, the way she threw my apology notes right into the trash without a second thought. I never met anyone quite like her again; everyone seemed so bland and empty when put next to the memory of my dear, dear friend Jenny…
But one day, a small miracle happened. I saw her again in a restaurant with her new friends. Her face was a bit sharper and her hair a bit longer, but she was still Jenny, through and through. I barely contained my excitement, holding off talking to her until her friends were gone. She didn't like it when I talked to her while other people were around.
I waited for a few hours, slowly eating my dessert and listening in on Jenny, being as fascinating as ever. She always looked so happy in groups, but I knew the truth. Eventually, she and her friends paid and left. I waited for a few minutes before following them. They hugged and separated. I approached Jenny.
As I said her name, she seemed rather confused. She didn’t seem to recognize me. Was it really that long? An odd thought bubbled up in my head, but I swatted it away. She wasn’t the kind of person to forget someone. Maybe someone like her thinks about so many wonderful things that someone like me is just a small detail…
I tried to remind her. I told her about all the meaningful glances we shared, all the times she let me sit at the same lunch table, but she either didn’t remember or pretended not to. Either was possible.
Finally, I told her the story of when she was at my birthday party. I pulled out the lipstick from my purse, still unopened. I shoved it in her hands. I told her how much it meant to me, that I kept it on me for years as a good luck charm.
She stared at it for a moment. Then she smiled, so cutely, so ironically, like she always did. She said she would never buy her friends something so cheap. She said that I must have mistaken her for someone else because she truly did not remember anything about me.
For a moment, I was stunned. But then I smiled. I nodded along. I understood the joke. This was all a part of a big, long joke.
Same as years ago, she turned around and walked away, and as I once again watched her back, I thought about, how she was truly growing into a woman beyond my understanding. I wished her the best.