Tectonic Plates (AKA Goldie Reunion)

So on July 20th, I had my reunion with Goldie. It was predictably anticlimactic. Prepare yourself.

She stopped me in a store, just beside the young women’s clothing section.  We stood there chatting with shopping baskets at our feet.

When we first passed each other, I recognized her almost immediately and, like a wuss, kept walking. Isn’t that terrible? The only reason why we spoke that night was because she made the connection.

Now that I’ve outed myself, I’d like to say sincerely that I have an appreciation for time; it allows for necessary space, personal growth and healing. Time has made me put different moments and relationships into perspective so that I can be more grateful and a better, wiser person. The night I saw her again, I got the impression that the same can probably be said for Goldie. It’s been about a decade since we (or, really, I) severed ties, and it was cool seeing how she still seemed to be drastically changing her hair color and cut almost as often as she did when she was in cosmetology school. She’s also added piercings and at least one other tattoo. The conversation was nice but, in my opinion, had a noticeable lack of easy familiarity, lack of bond, proof of how much we had grown apart. As she spoke, I realized that I couldn’t remember when my bitterness about the past had dissipated, other than the fact that it’s been at least a handful of years – maybe long before the toxic Rachel explosion of 2013. 

It was months - maybe even a year ago - when Goldie had asked a mutual friend of ours, whom we'll call Georgette, to reach out to me and help us reconnect. My reaction was to ignore the request, most likely due to fear, although I want to callously admit that there was plenty of genuine disinterest. The fear stems from a fact that might be obvious to you, reader, which is that I’m ridiculously protective of myself emotionally; if someone has wounded me in the past, I’m afraid of letting them do it again.  Looking back now, I believe that our growing apart was inevitable, and since I’m very sensitive and I saw her as family, I would have had a hard time with that shifting of our tectonic plates, but she began her unhealthy rebellious phase at that time, making the situation worse. I was very disappointed by some of her choices, which were those of an amped up archetype of a defiant teen trying to find herself, damn The Man, damn Mom and her rules - amped up because this chick was thrust out on her own prematurely after a not-so-stable upbringing. The person I am today can’t feel sad or bitter or regretful about the simple fact that we parted ways, because if the split was, in fact, necessary and had good results then what I need to feel is satisfied, thankful for time and maturity, proud of all of our good memories.

Here's another confession: The motivator in my decision to bring Goldie back into the fringe of my life is the fact that about five years ago, her father passed away, and I learned about it months afterward from Rachel. I was upset about how and when I got the news and decided that I don’t want to be that far out of the loop when, someday, ages from now, her very fit mother eventually passes. Goldie really hurt me when we were 18, 20, 23, sure, but that’s not a reason to be petty about something as life-changing as the death of a parent. We were significant members of each other’s lives for a long time and she deserved to have me acknowledge her loss.

I glanced down at the plastic basket I'd set down at the start of this conversation. In it, slowly getting warm, were key lime pie-flavored Greek yogurt cups at my feet. I secretly acknowledged my cowardice, got out my smart phone and scrolled through my Facebook account to the social group titled ‘Acquaintances’, adding Goldie to it.

When I again met Goldie’s gaze, I said something like, “Request sent,” and felt a genuine smile blooming. Since then, I haven't looked at her Facebook page and she has rarely crossed my mind.

           A long time ago, the plates shifted. I once was young enough to think that we were evolving but original and interconnected, like Pangaea. That was wrong and I don't mind.

Depicted: Pangaea Politica by Massimo Pietrobon.