Lost And Never Found

When I was growing up I had three best friends in my immediate neighborhood – Sandi, who was a year older than me; Leeann, who was a year younger than me; and Julie, who was my age.  Between third grade and High School it seemed like I was always at one person’s house or another. 

Sandi lived the closest to me - her backyard butted up caddy corner to my front yard.  I could scamper across my front yard, flip the handle on the chain link fence, cut across her backyard, and be inside her house in less than 30 seconds.  We had a lot in common back then, especially our undying love for all things Osmond (me for Donny, she for Jay.)  As Sandi got older, though, her thoughts and attentions turned towards boys she had a chance of actually meeting and I, still too young to pursue such a wanton lifestyle, turned towards the companionship of my other two friends.

I still live in the home I grew up in.  Sandi’s dad and brother still live in their old family home, as well.  For the past several years, Sandi has returned from her life in Colorado to celebrate her aging father’s birthday and she usually calls me so we can get caught up on each other’s lives when she’s in town.  For me, it is pure formality, as my actual friendship with her ended several decades ago. 

Because her mom and my mom share the same best friend, I’ve been privvy to the ups and (mostly) downs in Sandi’s life over the years.  I’ve heard about the partying lifestyle she’s led and all the jobs (and husbands) she’s lost because of it.  I know all about the doctor that told her if she didn’t stop drinking she’d be dead in five years – and that was several years ago.  Sandi called me up on Sunday and left a message that we should get together while she was home…and I couldn’t help but cringe a little.  Seeing her the past few years has been extremely painful for me.  It’s tough listening to her talk about her drinking binges and the so-called “wonderful life” she has back in Colorado, knowing full well that she’s in total denial about how bottomless her life has really become.  I chose not to return her call that day but when she persisted on seeing me, I gave in.  Monday afternoon she came through that chain link gate and up to my home, just like she did when we were 12 years old. 

She had aged a 100 years since the last time I had seen her.  On top of her sunken frame and the road map that ran across her face, she now shook uncontrollably and the stench of alcohol was so prevalent that it oozed out from every pore.  My heart died a little bit when I first hugged her. 

She came in and sat down, announced that she would be moving back home at the end of May - for good.  I asked what happened to that wonderful husband of hers and she informed me that he was nothing but a no good piece of sh*t.  She managed to lose another job recently and he had had enough.  After ten years of being married to the life-of-the-party girl, the party was finally over.  Now, he wanted her out. 

She told me she wished he would just beat her and get it over with.  She told me she’d rather he leave her dead in a ditch than to continue calling her the names he had been throwing at her.  I feigned ignorance and asked why, after ten years of marriage, he was suddenly so mean to her.  She looked down at her shaking hands and told me she really didn’t know.  She mentioned losing her job recently but also mentioned that he had lost his job a time or two over the years and she’d never thought about divorcing him.  I asked her if maybe he was just pissed and that he’d be better when she got back home where they could talk through things.  She said she doubted it and stared down at her hands again. 

I wanted to cry out, “Sandi, I KNOW.  I know you’re an alcoholic and you know you’re an alcoholic and your husband certainly knows you’re an alcoholic.  The drinking is what is getting in the way.  The drinking is what has caused you to lose everything in your life…the jobs and the men…the friendships…everything.”  I wanted her to look me in the eye and ask me for help.  Every time I tried to get her near the subject, though, she glassed over and went blank.  Her mind could no longer go there.  She had been in denial for so long now that her brain literally wouldn’t allow her to see what she didn’t have the strength to face. 

So we talked about our families instead…who had gotten married and who had gotten divorced and what part of the country everyone was living in now.  We talked about our parents being in their 70’s and how close we, ourselves, were to being in their shoes.  We talked about a lot of things - none that really mattered, though. 

Then, her eyes glassed over again as she looked around my kitchen and, out of nowhere, she said, “Remember when your mom used to make us Rice Krispie treats and we’d eat them right out of the pan because none of us could wait for them to get cool?”  Out of all the memories…she chose one I had no recollection of…one I’m not even sure ever really happened.  I certainly couldn’t place it.  But, for her, it broke through the fog of alcohol and made her face light up.  There, for a second, I saw a glimpse of my old friend from days gone by before her life took that one humongously wrong turn, leaving her sitting at the corner of Sadness and Denial. 

We said our goodbyes and she headed down across my front lawn, closing the gate behind her as she went.  I wondered if she’d really be back in May.  I wondered if she’d even live that long.  Then I spent the rest of the evening wondering where my denial lives inside of me?  And is it as deep as hers?  Am I blind to a part of myself that I can no longer stand to face?  When was the last time I looked myself in the mirror from head to toe?   

Then I looked down at my hands, joyful to see they were steady as a rock, and I prayed.