MONIQUE T. VITCHE
I keep having this recurring dream where I travel somewhere with two of my best friends and we get to this restaurant, except the restaurant turns into a bank and it’s raining outside.
I stare out the window for a moment and I watch the cars rush over puddles, the water splashing the people on the sidewalk. When I look back at my friends, they’re gone.
I wake up in a cold sweat and can’t go back to sleep.
Another dream: I search frantically for one of my best friends. I eventually find him, but as I get closer I realize it’s just someone who looks like him.
My waking life isn’t that much different. I haven’t seen my friends for more than a few hours at a time, spread out in the last few months. It’s strange, considering I am used to seeing them almost every day.
Our conversations are shorter. The late night conversations, stretching until 5 or 6 in the morning, no longer exist. When we do find the time to talk to each other, our responses are short. “Okay.” “Yes.” “No.” “It’s fine. “I’m fine.” “It’s cool.” “Oh.”
Maybe I’m being silly, but sometimes I worry that I’m just a blip on their radars.
Most of the time, however, I am in awe of the things that they remember about me.
One of the greatest things a person can do is remember small details about my life or my quirks…
My best friends are the kind of people who will remember every story I’ve ever told them – even if they forget what I’ve just said to them. They know that I can be a little shy at times, and always know how to make me feel comfortable.
I really don’t know what I would do without them.
I spend a lot of time thinking about my best friends and the other people I am close to. I often find myself talking about them and – if I happen to be talking about one of my guy friends – it leads people to jump to (usually wrong) conclusions about the nature of my relationship with that person.
The way I talk about my friends reminds me of the way my mother would brag about my accomplishments to whoever would listen. I’m like that annoying parent at her child’s soccer game who, whether her child is playing well or not, can’t shut up about how great he or she is doing.
I guess my biggest fear in life is finding out that I care about others more than they care about me. I often catch myself wondering if anybody has ever been upset over little things I do, or jealous and confused over me, or thought about me on a regular basis.
It’s something that I would never in a million years ask them, but I figure it this way:
if the people I call my best friends know all there is to know about me and still haven’t run away, then I should have nothing to worry about.