High Drama

The Infamous Picture

By AbbyA

Since we are reminiscing about old friends, I have a sad story to tell.  In fact, I don’t really want to tell it at all.  Because it makes me feel uncomfortable – – somewhere in between convicted and justified.  I think that’s called confusion.  Unless, of course, you can be both at the same time.

I was a part of a very close-knit group of girls through high school and middle school.  We traveled in a pack.  Ganged up on girls who dated our ex-boyfriends (or cheated with our boyfriends.)  High Drama.  Talked through the night until the phone fell off our ear.  High Drama.  Cried when we were happy and sad.  High Drama.  Drove each other home from school.  Drove around town on Friday and Saturday nights.  Solved our parents’ problems.  High Drama.  Lied about our age.  High Drama.  Burned at the beach together.  Ate whole pizzas.  Babysat siblings together.  Ransacked older brothers’ parties together.  We were a pack.  A High Drama Pack.

The pack went two directions after high school.  I went west to Louisiana and the rest headed to Seminole Territory.  Seems fairly natural except I was the only one who split.  There were plenty of meet-ups on holidays and summers.  But the bottom line was, for the most part, they were all together, and I was not.

There is a lifetime between then and now.  But that was the beginning of distance.  There was a wedding early on and it already felt weird.  I was pretty close to an outsider even though I was a bridesmaid.  There was a post college European trip where one of the gang came along with my college friends.  That was a severe disaster.  The story escalated to High Drama – –  “she” was left in Czech Republic while the three of “us” moved on to . . .  some other country.  There is only a grain of truth in that High Drama.  She was left at the train station a few exits from the hotel . . . whatever . . . I have no good explanation for it and I apologized to her about five years ago.  Anyway . . .

The distance didn’t end there.  To make matters worse, I headed off to law school.  Experienced personal drama.  Stopped talking to just about everyone for about twelve months.  When I came out of shock, I was too embarrassed to get back in touch with anyone.  There are many ways to tell this story, but I had the mindset that they perceived that my silence was the equivalent of me escalating myself above our friendships.  So I clammed up and handled it badly when I finally ran into one of them.  High Drama.

And then came Facebook.  I attempted to befriend them a few years ago, but no one really responded.  I think I am a “friend” of only one of these girls.  I guess you can call that Low Drama.  Lately, I have been trying to be a better Facebook friend – – trying to read threads and comment on pictures.  Curs’ed me.  High Drama.  I saw the whole slew of them on a reunion vacation together.  Every last one of them.   I even commented that they all looked beautiful.  No response.  High Drama.

This leads me to my current feeling of both conviction and justification.  On the one hand, we grew apart.  How many letters did I write those girls in college?  I don’t think anyone ever wrote back.  I moved on to what really was God’s plan for my life.  Justification.  In the rumble of growing up, I didn’t look back at the dust I left behind.  Perhaps I should have been kinder and more thoughtful.  Conviction.  High Drama.  I think it’s called confusion.  Unless, of course, you can be both at the same time.

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