Kristen

I have to admit: I’ve never been so jealous of someone in my entire life.1

Kristen had been my best friend for the majority of my life: we met in day care as toddlers, when our peers varied only in degrees of preferences in snacks and building block colors. We were a rarity: we were best friends with separate social groups and lifestyles. Some found it odd; others saw it as a balance: I was her voice of reason and she was my bad influence.2

After graduation, I packed for NYU in the fall. She packed up to go cross country in a Subaru her friend owned. They got as far as Tennessee before coming back. The inhabitants of the car – Mary, Danny, Jamie, Alex and Kristen – rented an apartment somewhere on Avenue O. I originally agreed to join, but reneged last minute. I wasn’t ready to be so far from campus.3

And that’s how our lives went – in parallel planes but in opposite directions. They had part-time jobs and full-time party ethics. I had a bedroom on campus and cried over Bs. We rarely found time to see each other, but we tried our best to converse from time to time. She fluidly talked of tumultuous romances and mind-expanding experiences. I fumbled over tales of Physics tests and 4.0s.4

Some nights I found myself too busy with my thoughts to study; all I could think about was living a life like theirs. I wanted that rough, bohemian lifestyle. They had each other and they bonded and bickered like family. I had problems finding a niche in the university. I could never let go of the plans I had already set myself with, but that recognition didn’t hinder my desire. Sometimes I spent weekends there as a wallflower, uneasy and uncertain – but nevertheless, I felt alive and decadent there, even as an observer in the room, making no contribution to the action, but taking it in like I was going to be saving it for later.5

During my junior year, I almost moved in with them again, but again decided against it. I was so unsure about the neighborhood and they had problems making rent some months, and I always worried they’d be evicted. They spent so little on groceries and I would have worried myself sick thinking that they'd be eating my food instead.6

The week Kristen found out she might be pregnant with a bartender’s child was the week I met Max. He was a sweet guy in line for his doctorate. I felt secure and whole talking with him and we married once he was out of graduate school.7

We lived in an apartment in West Village and looked at houses throughout Long Island. We talked about moving upstate. Although it became rarer and more fleeting, every once and a while I would stay at Kristen’s for a weekend. Max wanted to join me, but I thoroughly declined; I wasn’t ready for such worlds to intertwine. He grew angry – an emotion that reached a fevered level when he called one Saturday night and I was unable to hide my drunken, stoned stupor with my charming salutations.8

“It bothers me that you insist on having a life – particularly a life like that – that is completely separate from me.”9

“You don’t understand – Kristen…me…, I – I’ve lived such a tame life – and you know how I’ve been all my life. I feel like I’m missing out on something. I love you, I really do…I just, I like spending time with her, like that on occasion.”10

“So is that what you desire? To be a druggie? Or to just have a high school education? Is that what you are missing out on? Destroying your brain? Destroying your future? My God, I love you, but you are such an idiot sometimes. Why, when you already have everything you could possibly want? And where is Kristen now, huh? She’s going nowhere, and someday she’ll realize it. You – you made something with your life. You worked hard. She fucked hers over. That’s nothing to want.”11

And that was that. I stopped going to Kristen’s. We bought a simple Victorian home in Connecticut. Kristen called from time to time, and we talked about our lives, as if we were under obligation to let the other know that they weren’t dead yet.12

“I was always so amazed at your intelligence.” She admitted one night over the phone. She was trying to be a model and getting gigs now and then. Nothing to pay the rent, but she loved it. She was now living with a hybrid of her cross-country friends and other aspiring models. She talked of saving up her money to go to LA – maybe becoming an actress. “I mean, I wish I could have the drive that you have. I always knew you’d be going places, and you are. I’m so proud of you.”13

But was I really going anywhere?14

Or was I just sprinting on a treadmill with the scenery changing?15