Savannah Jaye

Looking back on that summer I can’t honestly say whose fault it was that things ended the way they did. At the time I would have sworn that I wasn’t in the wrong, and that I was the one abandoned by the ones I loved. I know myself too well now, though, for it to be that simple. We were young. We were immature. We expected the glory of our summer days to last forever, but at 15 nothing ever does.

So I started school at a place where the only people who knew my name hated me or loved me, and everyone else just didn’t care. And she was an answer to my prayers.

I made a decision that was stupid and impulsive. Looking back, it should have never worked out in my favor. I was in a rough place, and I was willing to do whatever it took to try and make certain situations work out. By the time school started though, it was apparent that my decision to switch schools was a gamble that wasn’t going to pay off in the way I had hoped. But I got her, and that was better than my plan.

I’ve written about this friendship a thousand times, because I’ll always have something to say about it. She had red-hair that matched the fire of her heart. She put a camera in my hand. She was my running partner. She introduced me to Andy Warhol. She was my friday night concert date—every friday. She was the sister I always needed, but never got to have. She was the shoulder I got to cry on every time I needed it. She was my confidante. One of the first things I ever wrote that I was really proud of was written to her.

But I’m a bad friend (or at least have far more potential to be that than I hope you ever realize) and I was a bad friend to her.

We ended our senior year of high school having nothing left to say, and that said it all. We were just two broken hearts, missing the pieces that made us whole. Each time we’ve spent together since then has just been painful reminders of how our lives have changed—sometimes for the best and sometimes for the worst. But always changing and growing away from each other.

I’m sitting here, and I can only think about what a shitty, selfish friend I’ve been.

7 months ago I was invited to be there for one of the most important days in her life. In all the years I’ve known her, no matter where our friendship had been, I never planned once on missing that day. But the day came and I wasn’t there. I didn’t send a letter or a gift explaining. There wasn’t even a facebook comment expressing my enthusiasm for her.

I just chose not to show up. And the reason why? Because of my shame. And my envy. And my pride. When that weekend came around, all I cared about was myself. About how it would look for me to go to that wedding alone. About the questions I would get and the looks I’d be the recipient of. The story I’d have to tell that was a constant reminder of my failure and of my shortcomings.

I haven’t spoken to her since then.

She’s pregnant now with their first child, and I heard it will be a girl.

But to me it’s just another important moment that I’m going to miss.

I wish this post had a happier ending, and I hope one day it will. I honestly don’t believe our story is over, but for 7 months this is where I’ve chosen to leave it and I’m incredibly ashamed of that fact. I don’t know what will be next for us—if it will be a sequel, an epilogue, or just a tiny footnote—but one day I pray I’ll have the courage to find out.