Pieces of Me

by Keri Lock (No part may be reproduced without the express permission of the author)

I developed many surface friendships with girls, and a small group of boys. I had a social group, a gang who consistently accepted my presence among them. There slowly grew a handful of people, who, for the most part and God knows why, accepted me for exactly what I was. I will say right now that but for two of them, Jessie and Gabby, I likely either would have dropped out of school or been committed at some point. Sensing I needed their protection, they kept me grounded enough to get me through most of High School without having a nervous breakdown. I have never asked them how they knew exactly what I needed from them. They loved me fiercely, and I them.

I have not had such openness, such unquestioned loyalty from female friends since that time and am not sure I ever will again in my lifetime. I took what they gave and offered little of myself in return. They certainly knew more about me than others did, but still, my real ideas, thoughts, dreams were kept locked away. As close as we were, I never exposed half my true-self to either of them, even when Jessie lived at my house for the last three months of our Sophmore year of High School. Her father had been transferred to Florida, and had decided, in response to our tears and heartfelt pleas, to let her stay at my house so she could finish the school year. She spent every waking moment with me for weeks and still, I confounded her. But, to her credit, though she sensed the otherness, she never pushed me away as others had. It only made her hang on more tightly to me. Sometimes during one of those innocent moments of transparency that happens in young friendships, she might share some intimate detail with me; about her dream to go to Law School and become a trial attorney, about love or her relationship with her parents.

She’d quietly pour out her heart in the darkness of my bedroom, trusting me to hold her deepest, darkest secrets dear. Then she’d silently wait for me to share with her. All I had to offer in return was lighthearted sarcasm about my future, kids of divorce and how I’d probably never get married. It was complete and total pretense and we both knew it. She never called me on it, but would give me a hurt look, after having delved into her most personal depths and still I couldn’t be myself with her. Yet, Jessie knew there was more to me; I often shared my writing with her. I just couldn’t talk about it. For the sake of the moment, I would try to offer up some sacrifice, some small part of myself that I hadn’t shared with anyone. It usually fell flat but the gesture would satisfy her and she would laugh, “You are SO WEIRD!” She knew me best.