A Friend In Need...

"I know it's rough," Sami consoled, putting her hand on mine for a second. "I know it is."

I looked at her; she was studying the road again. I couldn't look away. She was so pretty. Her hair blowing innocently behind her back, her hands steady against the jarring steering wheel that was revolting against the car's aching wheel alignment. Too many jaunts down too many country roads.

I knew she could feel my stare, but she made no move to bring it to an end. All she had to do was look at me and I'd have looked away. It's so much easier to stare at someone who's just a disinterested third party.

I couldn't help but wish she could read my mind. It would be so much easier than expressing it out loud. The truth was, I didn't really know why I was so unhappy. So restless. Here I had a wonderful friend--a perfectly wonderful gal pal--someone I could hang with who held me under no obligation to look good, feel good or even be good. She liked me no matter what part of myself I chose to show her that day and she just dealt with it. She was so secure in herself she never felt compelled to change anybody around her. She did not need me to change so that she could like me. She was one of exactly two people in my life who felt that way.

The rest were Charlies.

"Give it up, Izzy, I know you wanna cry. Just cry, for cryin' out loud. Then we'll both feel better."

She was kind enough not to look at me when she said it.

The flood gates opened wide and I threw my face into my grimy hands. Lord, how I hate crying. I do whatever it takes to avoid it, but there was no avoiding this one. Some invitations are harder to resist than others.

"I don't know what it is, Sami, I can't figure it out," I choked.

"Figure what out?"

"This...this unhappiness. This...loss. Why do I feel like I've lost something? I can't figure that out. It's like I'm running with a blindfold on."

"And a pair of scissors in your hands!"

"Exactly! But why? What's so different about today? Why do I have to live without something I want when it's really such a small thing?" The ingratitude was beginning to strangle me.

Ingratitude. Am I really that ungrateful? Am I really this self-pitying? There's got to be something more to this...this FIT...than poor, pitiful me. "I think I'm coming undone. How do I pick it all up. The pieces. Where do they fit now?"

"Now? What do you mean now, nothing's changed. So you had a hard time dealing with your ex, who wouldn't? You're not as dramatic as you think you are. You need to chill. Seriously. Forget about it. It's done. I'm here and we're almost in Whiton. It's time to get some ice cream down at The Parlour; what're they going to think if we don't show up?"

I looked at my watch. Sam was right. There was half a banana split with my name on it waiting there at The Parlour, third booth from the left--the one with the new upholstery. I knew Sam wasn't brushing anything under the rug; she just wanted me to get myself together before we hit town. It would mortify me to be seen carrying on as such in public. I could never face anyone again. It was time to put it behind me for a while, just get through the next half hour, and move my feet forward. One baby step at a time.