the potential to be endless

Long ago I did a couple human interest articles; I was able to interview extraordinary people with wonderful stories. This is one of my favorites

Friendship is a gift everyone is able to give and receive. True friends are loved for their qualities. Their minor faults are overlooked. I think it began when I asked Mrs. Louise who her best friend was. This was her story:

“I met my best friend when I answered a local add. Her name was Irene Herrera. She was in need of a roommate and I was in need of a home. I remember the first time I met her. I walked up her porch and noticed a small sign posted over the doorbell, and index card that read in simple block letters BELL. For the truly moronic there was an arrow.

She opened the door and she had a big smile on her face as she welcomed me in. She had a wide face and long red hair piled up on her head like she’d done it in a hurry. A pencil and a pen were sticking out of it. She had an old deep green kimono patterned with dragons, a big white t-shirt, black leggings and flip flops. Her toes were painted bright pink. She smelled like vanilla and turpentine. I was beginning to wonder what kind of world I landed in. I wondered how someone could dress like that but it was obvious Irene wasn’t anyone. And I realized that about her that night. She was one of my true friends, my roommate, and also the closest thing to family that I had.

We lived in a small town where it didn’t take much to get a reputation, and she had one. She was the girl who was made fun of by everyone because she was overweight, because she always had a Twinkie or two in her hand. Because her clothes were bright and never matched and because she rode a pink bike everywhere. Even at night when she attached an incredible bright light to the handles, which occasionally blinded on coming traffic.

She was into yard sales. She had furnished her whole house with 2nd hand furniture. Everything was old with a kind of tacky charm and in need of some kind of repair. A rocking chair missing a few back slots, a chair with 3 legs, no knobs in the drawers. But as you looked closely, you could see notes written in nice block letters. “WINDOW STICKS ON LEFT SIDE” it said next to the back door. Taped to the TV set right by the channel knob was my personal favorite “GIGGLE TO GET 11”. The notes were everywhere and nothing in the house was completely functional. She was constantly beginning projects, but nothing ever seemed to get completely fixed, just tinkered with and labeled with a note.

I was always out on dates, having fun and trying to be popular as I could. But Irene, Irene always stayed home watching Fred Astaire and Ginger Roger movies. Despite our many differences we were the best of friends. The minute we saw each other we were laughing and joking around. I will never forget the time I came home from a bad date. I was in tears sobbing and crying. I made it to the couch, and she didn’t even ask what’s wrong. She went into the kitchen, grabbed the ice cream and 2 spoons, while she yelled from the kitchen “men are wired to screw you over”. She always said the right things. We sat in silence, watching Fred Astaire and Ginger Roger movies.

People always had difficulty understanding her. But she understood me in her own way and I understood her. She taught me all I know.

Like that everything can’t be operational all of the time. Sometimes we have to give something the little nudge it needs. (Like GIGGLE TO GET 11). Friendship is about understanding we are all worth something. For Irene, there were no lost causes. Everything and everyone had its purpose. The rest of the world, too often, might have missed that.”

It’s been many years since then. Irene continues to live in the same house, and Mrs. Louise who related the story lives next door. Every Friday night they will be found in Irene’s living room in front of the GIGGLE TO GET 11 TV watching old Fred Astaire movies. Because friendships like movies have potential to be endless…

Loving, losing, healing

The following short story is dedicated to a dear friend who among all things always believes in happy endings, even when the girl doesn’t get the guy. So here it is, for the eternal optimistic, who always believes in love.

She fell in love the most way women do. Among flattery, promises of moon and the stars, and dreams of a fairy tale ending. And she believed in love the way most of us do. Blindly.

He was charming and kind, she was swooned and easily fell head over heels for him. Their love blossomed over constant hours of conversation about everything and anything. And even though many opposed the idea of a long distance relationship working - she thought of it romantic and endearing.

Sadly after a couple of years and an engagement later it all came crashing down. It was a late winter day when he told her through an email that HE fell out of love. She read it over and over hoping that among those lines there was something she missed. So there she sat staring at the end of what seemed to be her life and all she could do was cry. She got up went to her calendar and when she crossed out “Please wait for me”, the words he’d written just before leaving the states, she collapsed on the floor and sobbed uncontrollably for the loss of him.

The next morning she looked outside and the sun was gone. It was raining, but no amount of rain could wash away her sadness. She was at that moment… heartbroken. That’s when her heart stopped, her dreams were shattered and her fairy tale ending was brought to a screeching halt.

The break up arising out of thin air and with no real reason left her confused, hurt, shocked, and very much in pain. The more she thought about it the more she didn’t understand. How could someone, who had promised her forever, take it all away with just a few words? She never got closure, just an apologetic excuse with awkward reasoning. And that hurt her more. She found her self with the moon and the stars that he promised her, crashing down right on top of her. He hurt her so bad; she didn’t know where to begin to pick up the pieces of her life.

During the day it was very easy to be brave. But when night fell and the truth crept up in between dreams there was no escaping it. Some nights the silence scared her so much she’d wake up covered in tears and memories. See it was within the loss of them and the loss of her ideals that she lost herself. So she cried more tears than she thought she could cry and felt more pain that she thought she could feel. She was alive after all but alive with out him in her live.

But the days became weeks, the weeks - months and the pain became easier to deal with. With time she accepted defeat. So she boxed away the photographs and old letters. Boxed away the pictures and old CD’s he burned for her. And in that box she put away memories of yesterday.

Still the fact remained, her belief system was shaken. “I’m afraid that he took my ability to love” she would confide in her friends. Because after the pain became easier to handle her heart grew cold. And the biggest fear in being untouchable isn’t the fear of love itself but of never being able to be moved again.

Nevertheless, you can’t rush healing. It’s a process from the sleepless nights, to the “I can’t believe I loved you” days. So she took her time, remembering, feeling, and growing as the days passed. See it’s true we lose our battles but it’s also true that we win wisdom for the days ahead.

With time and healing she finally went a day with out thinking of him till finally her heart didn’t sink every time she heard his name. And since happiness cannot be found looking back she found ways around the memories.

Many years later I find myself immersed in conversation with her. “It’s been hard to be me again” She sighs. “But how long you dwell in defeat is entirely up to how fast you get tired of feeling like a failure. You just have to stop thinking about what you think you lost and look forward to what there is to gain.”

And it gets me thinking. The process of healing and moving on is a complicated one. Many get lost in the “I miss you”, “I can’t live with out you” days. But it’s a required process to move on correctly. Otherwise if you jump from tears to “just fine” you kid yourself that you are ok. You’ve just allowed the memory to grow tender so when the subject is touched your heart will beat differently. Never letting you rest completely.

She looks up at this point and stares up into the distance seeing something I don’t see and says “I’ve reconciled with the idea that he was never meant for me. But I’ve also learned there’s no such thing as you lost it all… after all for every ending there’s a new beginning…”