I remember seeing our engagement pictures posted on our photographers blog and tearing up. My heart raced, I got a little shaky, and a silly smile spread across my face. There we were, in love, for the world to see!
Today I’m looking at engagement photos also on our photographers blog and again am tearing up. My heart is racing, and I’m shaky.
No smiles.
I’ve seen several old friends appear unexpectedly on their blog before, as well as a couple of new friends. My high school crush was there one day looking very James Dean with his high school sweetheart. The prom king and queen, almost a decade later, finally tying the knot. I was always happy to see my friends on Last Forty Percent’s blog, knowing they made a fantastic choice and would have beautiful photographs to treasure just as we do.
I knew that this most recent couple was getting married. 10 days from now, actually. I don’t know him, but I know her. Or at least I thought I did.
She was my Best Friend – you know, the friend you share your dreams and have adventures with. We made gingerbread houses in her kitchen and played board games and pinball in her basement (There was a pinball machine! In her basement!). We practiced music together, she playing viola to my cello, along with the violins of several other friends. We went to the local fair every year in a group and bought bracelets allowing us to go on the Gravatar until we were sick. We nervously started high school together, expanding our circle of friends while at the same time remaining close. Our commitment to music took us to Europe, where we travelled through Switzerland and Italy with our high school choir. We started growing up, standing on a dark sidewalk after a party bravely taking slurps of Cherry Coke laced with whiskey.
Maybe it was here where things started to go awry. In truth, I’ve never figured it out, and perhaps I’ll never know. All I do know is that one day I arrived at school, approached her at her locker to greet her, and was met with a blank stare.
From that day forward, I didn’t exist to her.
If she had to speak to me, her words were terse and short. If she had to be near me, she turned her back and stared into space. I spent days – weeks – months – years! trying to figure out what I might have done that would make her no longer want to spend so much as a moment with me. Her own brother, whom I count as a friend, asked me what happened between us. I told him I wish I had an answer. Oh, how I wish! I have no answers. Only questions.
Perhaps I wasn’t cool enough. I’ll be the first to admit, I was really awkward as a teen. Maybe I did something seemingly horrible to her, or said the wrong thing. My brain-to-mouth filter is not always on. Maybe I didn’t pay enough attention to her, or was making the wrong friends. Maybe this, maybe that. I’m maybe-ed out. I need to stop myself before I get into the what-ifs, but I’m leaving this post with one what-if:
What if she reads this? It’s possible she is.
Will she reach out?
Please do.
It’s been 10 years. What I wouldn’t do for closure.

































































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