I am not a person who needs a lot of friends. A few really good ones will do, and I’ve been blessed with those. Nevertheless, I did find it a little lonely when we first moved to Virginia Beach and I had to start all over trying to find local friends. It’s not easy to begin again in a new place when you are sixty. However, I had the good fortune of finding a friend who shared my interest in music. We got together on a weekly basis, and all seemed to be going splendidly until we had a falling out nearly a year ago. I invited her over several times after that, but she always found some excuse, and finally I stopped asking.
Recently, much to my surprise and her beneficence, she has renewed our friendship. But you never forget the incident that drove you and your friend apart. Even if you don’t remember the exact details (I still do), you remember the hard feeling, and you walk on eggshells for awhile until you feel each other out and know what ground you stand on.
In our case, the confrontation revolved around our mutual love of music. I simply had pointed out to her that she had played the wrong note in a particular piece, and she said she had not. “Did, too,” I responded. “Did not,” she countered. You see where this was headed. I would have backed off, but she was emphatic that she had played the right note and I obviously didn’t know how to read music. I may not be the best musician in the world, but I was certainly the best musician in the house at that time, and I could not let it go. You probably think I am an egotist, but I am quite secure in my ability to read music, and I wasn’t going to let her get away with telling me I didn’t know what I was talking about.
Anyway, that’s neither here nor there. No point getting worked up again about something that’s in the past. I’m just happy to have my friend back. I do enjoy her company enough to ignore her idiosyncrasies, as I’m sure she does mine. It’s difficult, though, because now that I have her back, I see other traits in her character that make me apprehensive.
Today, for instance, when she came over, she proceeded to pick up every fragile thing I own. Then she said she was hungry and wanted a snack. When snack time was over, in my estimation, she said she was still hungry and wanted more. Then she demanded I tell her a story, one I made up in my head with her as the heroine. Then she said we were going to play a game that I didn’t want to play. I offered other suggestions on things we could do, but she said the game was her idea and I had to play it her way. My response to that was, “Oh, yeah? Well you aren’t the boss of me.” See how she pushes my buttons? I try so hard. I really do. Luckily her mom came to the door and rescued me before we had another falling out.