I remember the first time I saw her in Washington DC - the girl who would become my best friend - I didn't like her. There's something to be said for first impressions.
She had this air about her that was bratty and gross. Her eyebrows were arched with judgement and as she scanned the party for anything to elevate herself against. The way most people in the District would do, trying to find a way to talk about themselves in the political arena, to measure and size up their worth and value.
We were both makeup artists which is why we both ended up moving to New York City not long after that initial meeting. We took part in the same master makeup program, beginning our New York lives together. At the time she was single, I was married. 'P' was sweet and we went through the first year in New York side by side at parties, making dinner together, doing test shoots, creative shoots, collaborating on opportunities and so forth.
Eventually my career took off, I was winning competitions, flying off to London to compete and eventually got hired in the makeup department on a major motion picture. It all happened so fast that summer I can hardly remember not going to London being an option. Because, this is why you move to New York right??!!! To get the biggest fucking break of your life, so you better be ready for it. And I was.
So, off I went for 2 months assisting the top film makeup artists in the industry, rubbing shoulders with movie stars I had no business being around otherwise. The days were long and involved a lot of waiting around. The time difference between NYC and London created difficulty in keeping in touch with people back in New York, but 'P' and I talked almost every week and emailed. There's nothing like a friend that feels like a sister.
She only had a brother, whereas I grew up with two sisters, so she looked up to me somewhat and we had a sweet innocence to our friendship. We were also raised very Christian and sheltered. So much so that when it came to talk about sexual or dark places, such topics were judged harshly or ignored altogether. Looking back, I'm ashamed to think about what a judgmental asshole I must have been during that time. I thought I was better than others (although I didn’t see it as that at the time). And I think we fed that in one another, with our similar backgrounds. In some ways, her and I also competed against one another. But, secretly. The sort of thing you have to watch out for in close friendships. I had more of a natural artistic ability than she, who was the perfectionist, and I think this bothered her. Anyway, all of this would later contribute to our ultimate fall out.
She was hurt I hadn't kept in touch better while I was in London. And the truth is, I didn't know what to talk with her about. I'd entered a phase of life she'd only conceptualized. Her ideal of me and our friendship was so fragile. Once I got back to New York, we went out for wine and cheese in Chelsea. After two glasses of Shiraz, I told her my secret, something had happened in London that I had been keeping inside myself and it was crushing me. I hadn't meant to tell her, at least not in that way, but I did. And the secret? That this girl – me - who was a virgin on her wedding night and had worked so hard to hold up her Christian ideals, had had an affair in London. I think the guilt in me pushed it out unintentionally, longing for a safe place to dialogue. But instead? This secret, shared with a best friend, was met with shock and shame.
I'd always behaved so well. Performed so well. Did what I was supposed to do. Was such a good, perfect, ideal wife. How could this happen?
"How could you do this?" my single, inexperienced friend pleaded. I realized I had shared too much. My secret wasn't safe with her; I was no longer safe with her. And it wasn't going to be okay, our friendship would soon become collateral damage.
However, over the next year she was by my side, lending a home and accountability and acting as a support even though, in some ways, having never been married she had no business being in the middle of everything and expressing her opinions. The judgement from her remained strong and the friendship tense. Those days felt long... I watched my marriage die from a distance, weeks and months filled with unending stress and sadness. And yet, the day after my husband asked for a divorce I went engagement ring shopping with “P”. She told me I needed to be a good friend to her and go because of everything she'd done for me. I didn't want to let her down, so I went.
To this day that moment is a reminder of the measuring and the trauma. Eventually, she stopped being my friend. No explanation. Just silence - for 5 months. I'm not going to lie, I was a mess and full of drama the whole year while my marriage was falling apart. I lost numerous friendships. The ones I still have I cherish because of their patience and grace towards me.
The breaking point between her and I came when she did something that hurt more than the divorce. She invited my ex to her engagement party, and not me. I think, out of spite. Or, the fact that she didn’t want an adulterer at her engagement party. I found out from a mutual friend afterwards and saw the pictures that were posted everywhere online. It cut me deep, this betrayal. Her competitive, vindictive spirit to hurt me when I was down, simply because she could. I knew we could never be friends again.
It would be another 2 months until I would see her after, at a mutual friend's film screening. We knew each other was going to be there, but we didn't acknowledge each other. There she was with the same look and raised eyebrows as the day I'd met her. She eventually made excuses and left to go somewhere else - perhaps to avoid having to see my involvement with the event and feel insignificant, but in her rush to leave she had left her car keys on the bar. She always used to be that one random friend who actually had a car in the city. A car I'd borrowed numerous times when moving my belongings out of the house because of the divorce.
Seeing them on the bar, I grabbed them. And a week later, I threw them in the East River, one by one. After that, every time I thought about what she'd done, I'd remember the keys...and always feel so much better.