Ode To A Friend – It’s Not My Fault!
Do you know who Nellie Olsen is? She was the mean, bossy, rich girl with blond hair and big ringlets that hung on the side of her face who tormented poor little Laura Ingalls on Little House On the Prairie in the mid-seventies. (Yes, I know I just dated myself but it does say “middle-aged mom” above!) Well, it’s not my fault that my sister cut my best friend’s hair and made her look just like Nellie when we were in the 4th grade. Really. She could have said no. And it wasn’t that bad!
“It will grow out.” I reassured her.
It wasn’t my fault either that the bike we were on sped recklessly out of control while we flew down hill at what felt like 55 miles an hour that same summer. Yes, it was me that lost control of the two-wheeler but it was because she was sitting on the handle-bars and I couldn’t see! I’ll admit, that more than a few bruises were had that day and lots of blood marked the occasion, but we survived. And come to think of it, I am not going to take the blame for having to stop short at the entrance-way from the street to the parking lot at the Mamaroneck Diner. There were cars coming in for crying out loud! Surely, she could see them? But no, instead she continued on, ramming her bike into the back of my mine causing me to fall and smack my head against the concrete. I was left in a semi-conscious state, only coherent enough to tell her to “get help” after she knelt down beside me and asked,
“Are you okay? What should I do?”
It would be 34-years (and another story later) before I found myself riding in the back of a “cop” car again. We left our bikes at the diner to be retrieved that evening by my dad and his Volks-Wagon bus while a police officer drove us to the emergency room to get checked out.
Come, on! She didn’t know they were wild and out-of-control? Puh-leeze!
And, well, I don’t think it’s my fault either that when we went back to retrieve the pink box of treasures we buried some 25-years earlier, it was gone. Hopefully, someone who loves Wacky-Packages is enjoying them now as much as we did then.
I suppose it’s neither of our faults or both of our faults, depending on how you choose to look at it, that after cutting ourselves and mixing our blood to become blood-sisters, we both ended up being RH-Negative as adults. RH-Negative is the blood type that can create all kinds of problems when you’re pregnant by producing antibodies that can attack the blood of your fetus. It requires shots as soon as you know you are pregnant and necessitates that you carry an ID Card stating your type. Not that I had any clue what my blood type was before becoming blood sisters with her at age 11 but somehow I doubt it was RH-Negative and I don’t think it’s a coincidence that we both ended up being this type.
None of this is my fault. That really is true and it’s not hers either. No one is at fault here. Fate will take responsibility for the predicaments that paired us. And even though we’ve been physically separated by miles and states across the country, fate has sealed a friendship that’s lasted over 35 years. And it’s fate I thank, when I think back to all the silly and serious things we did together, the happiness, tears and secrets that we’ve shared and kept over these years. So, thank you, fate, for my forever friend.
Tell me, has fate found friendship for you?