| Essay Non-Fiction posted August 14, 2022 | Chapters: |
...18 19 -20- 21... 
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Things you can only say to a lifelong best friend
A chapter in the book A Fly on the Wall
The Privileges of Being Besties
by Rachelle Allen
| Background Observations and assessments of everyday occurrences in my life. They are presented in random, rather than chronological, order. |
August 11, 2022
I met my best friend, SueAnne, forty-six years ago during "Interim" of my sophomore year of college. Our schools were both on the 4-1-4 plan, meaning, four months of first and second semesters, with one month in between called "Interim." During that month, a student could study any course anywhere in the world as long as the participating college was on the 4-1-4 regimen, also.
I wanted to learn to type, but my school wasn't offering that course during Interim. In Albany, New York, though, it was available at a place called The College of Saint Rose. And that's where I met SueAnne, who was a Speech Therapist major there the entire four years. Her regular roommate was taking her Interim course elsewhere, so I was assigned to be the replacement roommate for a month.
Practically on first sight, but definitely by the end of our first week together, SueAnne and I became best friends forever.
She was everything I wasn't: statuesque (5'9" to my mere 5'5-1/2"), willowy (versus my 'hourglass' physique), understated (I'm exuberant), and with a Bohemian fashion flair. (I'm flashy, flashy, flashy.) Her hair was glossy, dark brown and fell in flawless, effortless planks down her back. (Mine is flame red with cascades of unruly curls.) Most amazing of all, she had a serious boyfriend who was a guitarist in a rock band that gigged out every weekend. (I had no boyfriend at all, let alone one cool enough to be in a rock band, and, far worse, I was being "classically trained" in piano and opera. Dullsville with a capital 'D.')
I idolized her on sight, but the minute she opened her mouth, I knew she was the best friend I'd always known was out there just for me. As different as we were in every other way, in the area of our outrageously irreverent sense of humor, we were identical.
We spent so many hours that January laughing, playing cards (Double Solitaire --she was, like me, surprisingly competitive!), cooking together and making memories that still remain vivid in our minds and hearts to this day.
What I love most of all about SueAnne, though, is that we never pull our punches. We say what needs to be said, and the other of us hears the words in the exact spirit in which they were intended. To me, that is the ultimate luxury any relationship can bestow: you tell me the truth in whatever manner you can. We listen between our word choices and hear their real meaning because we know anything we ever tell the other of us is for the purpose of making her better off afterward. Things like:
"You can do so much better than him. I want you to think about leaving."
"You are great at your job. Why are you letting yourself settle for so little money for it?"
"Do you want me to call your daughter and tell her what an ass she's being?"
"You do not have the luxury of tanking over this bump in the road. You have a husband and two children who need you to get back up and plug back into your life and theirs."
Sort of Tough Love, but more like Ferocious Love, because that's how we love each other. We see each other as these Goddess-like creatures so, therefore, we insist we see ourselves that way, too.
Well, except where clothes are concerned. When fashion is on the line, it's an out-and-out free-for-all. No one with an ego gets out alive.
Every summer since we met, we get together halfway between our two houses and spend Friday through Sunday at a great hotel.
One year, we'd just arrived in our room and had begun to unpack. As far as what to bring for our weekends, the rule we always followed was simple: bring comfortable outfits and sensible shoes for shopping sprees and sightseeing, then something fabulous for two nights of fancy dinners.
SueAnne, as I mentioned, is tall and willowy. Her allure is her vibe: it whispers "I'm cool and understated-sexy." She wears long, loose-fitting dresses in unusual batik fabrics and carries them off like a runway model.
Myself, I'm, as I mentioned, flashy. As a former dance teacher and choreographer, my signature feature is my long dancer legs, so I accentuate them with short, sequined dresses and stiletto heels.
As we unpacked, our fancy dinner dresses ended up next to each other in the closet. SueAnne stopped, gave me a droll little look and pointed to mine. "Those better be blouses," she said, knowing full well they weren't. I pointed to hers and said, "And those better be your grandmother's nightgowns." And then we laughed ourselves silly. Only best friends get such a pass.
Another time, we were shopping at a chain store I frequent in my own area, too. SueAnne yanked out a dress -- palest of pinks with a slight shimmer to the frothy fabric and a short, scalloped hemline-- and squawked, "Oh good lord! Just LOOK at this!" She threw her head back and let out a hearty belly laugh.
"Um, I OWN that dress," I said with an indignant glare.
Did she apologize or attempt to show even the tiniest tidbit of embarrassment or remorse? No, she did not. She laughed HARDER. In fact, she doubled over. Only a lifelong friend earns this privilege.
At one summer rendezvous, I brought her a dress I'd found earlier that year in a one-of-a-kind boutique store. When she unwrapped the box, she exclaimed, "Oh my goodness! This is absolutely perfect! How did you ever pick this out?"
I replied, "Well, when I saw it, I said, 'This is the ugliest dress that was ever made in the history of clothes.' So I knew, immediately, that you were going to love it." Did she whip me with its hanger? Nope. She cried and said, "Thank you! I couldn't love it more!"
Only best friends could have this exchange.
And so, as I head out today to meet up for another get-together with my lifelong best friend, I'm eagerly awaiting our card games, heart-to-heart talks, shopping sprees, pool time and, most of all, the rude comments she'll make about my fancy-dinner black glitter mini dress with the matching stiletto heels.
It's my favorite by-product of forty-six years of ferocious love.
I met my best friend, SueAnne, forty-six years ago during "Interim" of my sophomore year of college. Our schools were both on the 4-1-4 plan, meaning, four months of first and second semesters, with one month in between called "Interim." During that month, a student could study any course anywhere in the world as long as the participating college was on the 4-1-4 regimen, also.
I wanted to learn to type, but my school wasn't offering that course during Interim. In Albany, New York, though, it was available at a place called The College of Saint Rose. And that's where I met SueAnne, who was a Speech Therapist major there the entire four years. Her regular roommate was taking her Interim course elsewhere, so I was assigned to be the replacement roommate for a month.
Practically on first sight, but definitely by the end of our first week together, SueAnne and I became best friends forever.
She was everything I wasn't: statuesque (5'9" to my mere 5'5-1/2"), willowy (versus my 'hourglass' physique), understated (I'm exuberant), and with a Bohemian fashion flair. (I'm flashy, flashy, flashy.) Her hair was glossy, dark brown and fell in flawless, effortless planks down her back. (Mine is flame red with cascades of unruly curls.) Most amazing of all, she had a serious boyfriend who was a guitarist in a rock band that gigged out every weekend. (I had no boyfriend at all, let alone one cool enough to be in a rock band, and, far worse, I was being "classically trained" in piano and opera. Dullsville with a capital 'D.')
I idolized her on sight, but the minute she opened her mouth, I knew she was the best friend I'd always known was out there just for me. As different as we were in every other way, in the area of our outrageously irreverent sense of humor, we were identical.
We spent so many hours that January laughing, playing cards (Double Solitaire --she was, like me, surprisingly competitive!), cooking together and making memories that still remain vivid in our minds and hearts to this day.
What I love most of all about SueAnne, though, is that we never pull our punches. We say what needs to be said, and the other of us hears the words in the exact spirit in which they were intended. To me, that is the ultimate luxury any relationship can bestow: you tell me the truth in whatever manner you can. We listen between our word choices and hear their real meaning because we know anything we ever tell the other of us is for the purpose of making her better off afterward. Things like:
"You can do so much better than him. I want you to think about leaving."
"You are great at your job. Why are you letting yourself settle for so little money for it?"
"Do you want me to call your daughter and tell her what an ass she's being?"
"You do not have the luxury of tanking over this bump in the road. You have a husband and two children who need you to get back up and plug back into your life and theirs."
Sort of Tough Love, but more like Ferocious Love, because that's how we love each other. We see each other as these Goddess-like creatures so, therefore, we insist we see ourselves that way, too.
Well, except where clothes are concerned. When fashion is on the line, it's an out-and-out free-for-all. No one with an ego gets out alive.
Every summer since we met, we get together halfway between our two houses and spend Friday through Sunday at a great hotel.
One year, we'd just arrived in our room and had begun to unpack. As far as what to bring for our weekends, the rule we always followed was simple: bring comfortable outfits and sensible shoes for shopping sprees and sightseeing, then something fabulous for two nights of fancy dinners.
SueAnne, as I mentioned, is tall and willowy. Her allure is her vibe: it whispers "I'm cool and understated-sexy." She wears long, loose-fitting dresses in unusual batik fabrics and carries them off like a runway model.
Myself, I'm, as I mentioned, flashy. As a former dance teacher and choreographer, my signature feature is my long dancer legs, so I accentuate them with short, sequined dresses and stiletto heels.
As we unpacked, our fancy dinner dresses ended up next to each other in the closet. SueAnne stopped, gave me a droll little look and pointed to mine. "Those better be blouses," she said, knowing full well they weren't. I pointed to hers and said, "And those better be your grandmother's nightgowns." And then we laughed ourselves silly. Only best friends get such a pass.
Another time, we were shopping at a chain store I frequent in my own area, too. SueAnne yanked out a dress -- palest of pinks with a slight shimmer to the frothy fabric and a short, scalloped hemline-- and squawked, "Oh good lord! Just LOOK at this!" She threw her head back and let out a hearty belly laugh.
"Um, I OWN that dress," I said with an indignant glare.
Did she apologize or attempt to show even the tiniest tidbit of embarrassment or remorse? No, she did not. She laughed HARDER. In fact, she doubled over. Only a lifelong friend earns this privilege.
At one summer rendezvous, I brought her a dress I'd found earlier that year in a one-of-a-kind boutique store. When she unwrapped the box, she exclaimed, "Oh my goodness! This is absolutely perfect! How did you ever pick this out?"
I replied, "Well, when I saw it, I said, 'This is the ugliest dress that was ever made in the history of clothes.' So I knew, immediately, that you were going to love it." Did she whip me with its hanger? Nope. She cried and said, "Thank you! I couldn't love it more!"
Only best friends could have this exchange.
And so, as I head out today to meet up for another get-together with my lifelong best friend, I'm eagerly awaiting our card games, heart-to-heart talks, shopping sprees, pool time and, most of all, the rude comments she'll make about my fancy-dinner black glitter mini dress with the matching stiletto heels.
It's my favorite by-product of forty-six years of ferocious love.
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