Undefined

twloha:

“Our Window”
Noah and the Whale

“Things are getting heavy, and we both know that it’s over. But we both are not ready.”

When I was in high school, I had one best friend. I honestly didn’t know why she chose to be friends with me, but I was grateful. She was the kind of girl that everyone wanted as a friend. She was the sister I always needed, and when I say she changed my life, I mean it. She handed me a camera for the first time and supported me when I tried out for a small part in my school play, small things that made me fall in love with The Arts.

One of my favorite memories took place the summer after our junior year when we road tripped to Pennsylvania to visit my family. At night, we would lay out on hay bales to admire the stars. During our senior year, though, we started letting little issues like haircuts and lunch plans lay the bricks that turned into a wall between us. Eventually we had two broken hearts, each missing a piece the other had. After our high school graduation, she and her family moved out of state, and we stopped trying to force a friendship to work.

“Spring can be the cruelest of months, bringing in new life.”

One day about two years later, I got a letter notifying me that I had been accepted as a transfer student to my dream school and would be living less than 20 minutes away from her. For the first time in a year, I called her. We met for breakfast one morning and said we’d meet for lunch every few months. Our tradition continued until last May — when she got out of her car and handed me a wedding invitation.

I put the invitation on the desk in my bedroom, and I thought about her and her big day often. And yet. When the day came to RSVP for her wedding, I froze, and when the day came to go to her wedding, I didn’t.

It wasn’t because I didn’t care enough about her. It was because I was ashamed about how I had treated her in the past, including my new and unjustified silence, and my envy of her new life and love. So without a word to her, I selfishly decided to move on with my life and forget her.

“‘Cause blue skies are coming, but I know that it’s hard.”

That was ten months ago, and I never told anyone what I had done. As it turns out, moving on and forgetting is not an easy thing. Each day I thought about her and how terrible of a friend I was. In a bout of missing her and stalking her on Facebook, I learned that she recently gave birth to beautiful baby girl.

Again, I felt shame and guilt about my actions.

It was then that I decided to write a letter and ask for forgiveness, even though I didn’t believe I deserved. I set a deadline for myself, and as the date got closer, and I steadily grew more anxious about the letter and what I needed to express.

You can imagine my surprise yesterday morning when I discovered that she had actually written to me first.

As was her style, it was beautiful and elegant, but most of all it was full of love and grace. At the end of the letter she said, “You are an amazing friend with an ability to love and accept people unlike anyone I know. The bottom line, Savvy, is that I love you. No matter what, thick and thin, speaking or not, even when I’m hurting, even when it’s hard. But if I’m completely honest with myself and with you, It’s a lot easier to love you when you’re speaking to me.”

I thought that by ignoring the ugliness inside of my heart I could fictionalize it and make it go away. I thought that by talking about it, those who care about me would love me less, but instead I was greeted with grace. By acknowledging my own shortcomings, I gave her the opportunity to love me more than she ever could have before.

Last night as I sat down to respond to her letter, I experienced a thousand emotions. I was humiliated by my own selfishness but also honored by the forgiveness she gave despite that. For three hours I worked on my response, forcing myself to confess the ugly personal truths — insecurities, shame, and envy. When I had finally finished writing out my name, all I could think about was the relief at finally being honest and getting the opportunity to apologize to her for my actions.

“The stars are shining through our window, and it’s been awhile since I stared at the stars.”

She called me tonight. Wanting some privacy, I walked down the street to a local park. As I lay on one of the benches talking on the phone, I took the time to stare at the stars. It had been a long time since I ever thought I would get to see the stars shine the way they did all the years ago in the fields of Pennsylvania, but tonight I finally found the missing piece.

— Savannah Jaye
Spring 2012 Intern