I had a friend once

"I had a friend once, it was nice."
Dad, on my wedding speech.

Have you ever noticed how some friends stick for life, while others simply disappear —unannounced— into thin air?
Growing up I had a hard time making friends. When I was in elementary school I was "betrayed" by my best friend and I didn't speak to her for over a year. If you must hear the story, it all started when a teacher wrongfully accused me, in front of the whole class, of stealing a Mother's Day craft. I didn't steal it, obviously, but when she asked the entire group of fifth-graders if anyone thought I wasn't the "thief" nobody backed me up. But I didn't care about "anybody"; I only stared at my friend with piercing eyes wondering why she wouldn't defend my honor. Later I understood that she was put in a very difficult position and I let it go. I realized, after forgiving her, that I had lost one whole year of laughs and giggles and games because of my stupid pride. She left a few years later and I didn't see her again for almost seven years. The second time around it was me who blew up our friendship and the betrayed became the betrayer. We didn't speak for years during our twenties until we reunited again. She was there at my wedding. And she was one of those people my father was amazed at because he couldn't fathom anyone having as many friends as I do.

When I was 11, I switched schools. For the first year none of these new friendships would stick. One time, these girls I considered my "new friends" wrote me a letter saying they didn't have room for one more. I kept searching and eventually found friends that remained friends for life. I was lucky.
But I also think about J and A. I would've given my right arm for them. We were thisclose during pivotal moments in our lives and then something happened; we became as estranged as mosquitoes and repellent.
With J I guess it was that she was never the greatest of friends to begin with. We hung out too much, laughed too hard, shared too much, but when the time came to follow the course of our own destinies, we each got distracted and forgot to nurture our friendship. I'd like to blame her for it all, but that would be too easy. I wish I could have one last talk with her but I fear she will think my approach is merely the effect of her quasi-stardom. It's not. I cherish the fun times and those instances are far more powerful than the shit that followed.

Photo: Getty

As for A, well, that's another unsolved mystery. The fact that she only called me when she was on the road, only to hang up when she got home, was an indication that I was her outlet, a friendship to fill the gaps in her life. She did most of the talking, oftentimes not even asking how things were going on my end. So I listened and used up my minutes. But we did what true friends do; she gave me a home for a month at my lowest of the low; when things were blacker than black, when I was homeless and living from a suitcase. I'll give myself credit too; I went to the hospital with her when she needed me the most. Nobody knew she was there and I kept the secret. To this day she doesn't know that I missed an important interview in New York that same day because I chose to stay by her side. I was penniless and needed the job and I decided that being a good friend was far more important. But then she got married and I moved to another city and we never spoke again. Poof. Like an Alka-seltzer relationship, dissolving.

I'd like to think there is a graveyard for such dead friendships; a place in our minds we can visit from time to time, leave some flowers and remember the good times.

I wouldn't want to visit the tombstones often.

After all, I still have plenty of living friends that I need to nurture.