Friendship

I have this friend called Jenna. Obviously she's really not called Jenna and in fact, she's really not a good friend. I've known her since my pink banana seat bicycle days and, along with another friend *not* called Natasha, we used to make up adventures by this creek near our elementary school. I distinctly remember hunting sharks in a 5-inch creek. Natasha was the most level-headed of us, she was also the only other person I knew while growing up who wasn't white or black. Our close bond was first formed when we both started playing soccer at the age of 6 and had no idea what we were doing. Our parents dropped us off to practice one grey day and left us to our own devices. Everyone else on that team knew each other since birth and we were the brown outsiders. After standing around and waiting for everyone to get there, our coach gave a little first-practice speech, and told us to split up according to what position we wanted to play. I remember hearing the word 'wing' and thought: 'maybe I'll get wings and be able to fly', and eagerly stood in line. I generally took things literally at that age: when someone would complain about 'cutting in line', the image in my head was of a person cut down the middle and the offender standing in between the halves. I was similarly put off when our teacher announced we were going to the gym. To me, gym sounded like the Arabic jinn which means spirit or demon. I conjured up images of a giant, hooded beast and refused to go anywhere near the gym.

Anyway, as our first soccer season went on, we started hearing words like 'defense' and 'offense' and had no idea what they meant. We came to rely on each other in our state of cluelessness and became inseparable for quite awhile. As it turned out, Natasha and I ended up playing soccer together until we graduated high school. In keeping with our brown tradition, we were both the smartest in our Biology, Chemistry, Physics and Calculus classes, and we were always confused with each other because all brown people looked alike in a school full of WASPS, Jews and the token Hispanic and black kids. Natasha is the only Zoroastrian I know and I am constantly trying to weasel my way into an event at her Temple because they sound like a lot of fun, and you just can't go wrong surrounded by a bunch of Persians. She is also the only person from my relatively small hometown who I stay in touch with. She fills me in on the gossip and who's come out of the closet and the like.

Anyway, this post was meant to be about Jenna. Jenna moved to a neighbouring town just before we entered high school. She was never that far away, only about 5 miles but our lives went in completely different directions from then on. She met up with a bunch of skaters and stoners and became too cool for the likes of me and Natasha. Before Jenna moved, she was one of the fastest girls on the track team, an unbelievably talented writer and artist and hard-working student in the subjects that didn't come easily for her. After she moved, things were completely different. Upon meeting her new friends, she was smoking both pot and cigarettes regularly and had lost interest in any form of education. She introduced me to my first punk shows and although I love the music now, at the time I never felt more out of place. I was never outgoing enough to feel comfortable around her friends. Natasha had stepped out of the scene at this point - she and Jenna both realised their differences would preclude any semblance of a close relationship. I tried though. Jenna's new friends were total idiots. Jenna's mom used to call my mom crying because of something Jenna had gotten into and my mother would encourage me to support Jenna to take steps in the right direction. We went through the rest of high school with me distancing myself, Jenna doing her own thing for months and then calling me out of the blue crying about her latest disaster. I went off to college, Jenna stayed at home and waited tables, dabbled in and out of local community colleges, battled with depression and was hospitalized more than a few times for trying to kill herself. She also took increasingly dangerous drugs, drank heavily and took anti-depressants. She also had a nearly fatal battle with meningitis she contracted from someone she met on a family holiday.

So whenever I came home from Uni or travelling, Jenna would be sure to call and if I had time during my short visits home, I'd meet up with her. All I came away with was frustration - she has created so much crap for herself and the way she handles it is the way a 4 year old might handle a playground fight. Constantly reassuring herself she's the victim: her parents are making her life miserable, someone said this about her and this guy cheated on her. Now this is my first time being at home for an extended period of time and she's calling me regularly to make plans to do something. She has also taken steps to fix her situation, realising that she needs some education to make any sort of progress in her life, she's been sober for about a month now meaning no alcohol and no illegal drugs. She's in a stable relationship for what seems like the first time in her life. She's using an arsenal of support: therapist, psychiatrist, group therapy.

The problem is I'm not interested in hearing what she has to say. She still has mini-dramas that she has to call and share with me and I really just don't care. I've never been an overly personable person - if I'm interested in someone and their ideas and so forth, I'm quite the charmer but I have never had the knack for small talk and making friends with people simply because I feel obligated to. I just never had an inclination to make an effort with someone who's company I'm not initially drawn towards. Now, with Jenna, I know that I'm probably her best friend in the sense that my advice is the best she can receive from any of her friends. I just don't want to deal with her shit, I don't enjoy conversations with her as she usually talks about things that were obvious to me 8 years ago and irritates me in general. Maybe I should be a good person and be there for her, but I am avoiding her calls. I don't want to encourage her friendship because I feel like I have to, and to be honest it's a liability for me. She calls at all hours, rambles about her latest drama and then stops for a brief "how are you?" and then goes on with her story. I'm not quite sure how to tell her that I don't want to spend time with her, I keep avoiding making a commitment but I'm tired of making up stories. It's weighing on me because I've come to dread her phonecalls and spending time with her and my mother is trying to make me feel guilty for avoiding. When it comes down to it, I'm not interested in a charity friendship. She knows what she needs, she has all the tools. It's time for her to wake up and I don't want to give her any more time or energy than I already have. I guess it's pretty cold and I'm generally a helpful person. I just don't have any sympathy for anyone who doesn't have enough self-respect to help herself.