ReadFin Literary Journal (Winter 2018)

Letter to an Old Friend
Amanda Kennedy
Elissa, Elissa, Elissa,
I have no idea how you’ve been these past months – nay, years –
since I’ve seen or heard from you. I don’t wish you ill health, but
if I’m to be honest, and it seems that you were – unabashedly
– I just don’t care how you’ve been. I don’t miss you. My life
is no less rich without you in it. If anything, it is simpler, less
draining.
This is generally the spot where I would give you a précis of the
state of my life at this point but I won’t because I don’t wish to
reconnect with you. That is over.
Epistolic protocols attended to, let’s get to the heart of the
matter. When Shane first spoke of you, then introduced us, I was
hopeful that we would get along well. Friendships have their
own unique organic timeline and these things can’t be rushed,
no matter how eager he was for us to bond. As it happened, it
seemed we survived the demise of your and Shane’s relationship.
Trust me, I’ve divorced a husband and I know these things can be
tough and people drop off along the way.
I think we would have become closer over time had I not begin
to feel your tentacles reach out into my very core. Frequently
turning you down for a coffee catch-up was as much about me
wanting some time for myself as it was me not feeling up to
dealing with your stuff. You are the kind of person who always
seems to have some drama in their life.
I recognise that you carry residual social anxiety from being
attacked one evening walking home. I’m grateful that I’ve never
had to deal with something like that. I’m not going to tell you to
get over it because I don’t know how I would feel in your shoes. I
will say, though, that life goes on. Jobs still need to be attended
to earn money to buy food and pay rent. The food package that
I brought over to you so you would have something to eat was a
way of me reaching out to you, saying ‘I won’t let you go hungry.’
It seems you thought we were about to buy friendship necklaces
for each other. Two people rarely see anything the same way.
You wrote me, accusing me of ignoring you, saying that I hurt
you with my nonchalance. I was keeping you at arm’s length
because I found you very draining. Six months in and you rang
crying down the line, saying you felt like ending it all. It shocked
me. I thought, ‘Don’t you have anyone that you’re close to? Am
I really the person you choose to call before topping yourself?’
Hours were spent on the phone as I listened to you drag out
every aspect of your life, pining for a lost relationship that you
chose to step out of. My hands would go numb while my stomach
rumbled as I sat there listening, the hours ticking on. The
first time, you managed to talk me out of driving over to your
place, explaining that the phone conversation had helped. I am
grateful for that. I didn’t want you to succeed at suicide.
The second time though, I had figured out that you were never
serious about killing yourself. You were just seeking connection.
Recently having moved here, you lacked a core group to fall back
on. Being a freelance writer lacking work didn’t help either. Your
anxiety skyrocketed as you remained in your unit, too broke
to go out. When I read your social media post about your bike
being stolen, I understood that was a difficult time for you but
all I could think was, ‘It’s never going to turn up. They never do.
Bikes are stolen every single day in the inner city and the bottom
line is they just don’t turn up.’ I didn’t say that though because
you didn’t want to hear it. I said ‘good luck’ because it was easier
than telling you the facts. I admit that I took the cop out route
that could be perceived as nonchalance.
From a positive perspective, Shane always told me that he
thought you came into the polyamorous lifestyle with a very
open and grounded attitude. You knew that he had multiple
partners, including me. I was happy to get to know you as one
of his met-amours. The constellations of partners and friends
in polyamory is complex and friendship is not always assured.
We tried to be friends for him, and then later just for us. It’s
okay that we failed. In the last few months, I didn’t notice that
you had cooled towards me as I was busy myself juggling a new
relationship, a parent with ill health and teenage daughters. I
should thank you though. You’ve taught me that it’s okay to draw
boundaries with people and that it’s okay to let people go.
I thought we had more of a friendship than that. Amanda, I
really did.
We didn’t. And by the way, only real estate agents and
telemarketers call me Amanda. My friends call me Mandy.
ReadFin Literary Journal 59