Our Cracking Bones Make Noise

Amanda was in a car accident.

This isn't new news. This happened two weeks ago today. I didn't write about it when it happened...I tried, but the words came out too stoic and I just couldn't find anything else to say.

Curiously, the week after it happened was one of the best weeks I've had in a long time. It isn't really logical, she was in the hospital and pretty badly injured, looking at a six-month recovery in another state. I shouldn't have had a good week. I shouldn't have been happy and riding high, but I was. I spent nearly everyday in the hospital room, just hanging out with a friend I was afraid I had lost, and every one was grateful and focused on the injured. It was nice. I felt good. I was there and I was wanted, and I could focus my energy on making Amanda comfortable and helping the family out in anyway I could. I could listen to people when they worried or needed to vent, I could be a shoulder to cry on, I could be a voice of reason. It was incredibly reassuring for me; I felt useful and good, and I liked it.

It didn't start out that way.

The car accident happened on a day in which I felt everything was finally getting back to normal. A few weeks earlier I had written a note to the other baristas at Seattle's Best, essentially berating them for not doing their jobs. To be fair, they weren't, and the note was fairly merited, if not a little irrational at the time it was written. I probably could have cooled down some. Waiting a while, busied myself with another task, before I wrote the letter. Although, I don't know that I would have cooled down all that much. I was so angry I was shaking, so angry I thought I would cry. I felt personally attacked by everyone around me, and though it wasn't true, it didn't help my composure. So, the letter came out a bit out of favor of the person it wasn't actually meant for. That person was Amanda. She was furious with me; uninvited me to her birthday, pretty much told me to go fuck myself. I explained to her why it was written the way it was and that I wasn't thinking of her or of Kirstie at the time it was written, but she was still angry. She was still angry that I was so angry, she was hurt by the sum of all my hurt, wrapped up in a mean little package.

But, she got over it. We talked, I explained; she talked, she expressed. She was open with me about her anger and we moved on. I was back on for her birthday, although she did tell me she didn't think I would be invited to the road trip pending Kirstie's anger (at a note that she wasn't even around to be targeted in). It bothered me that I was put on the side in favor of Kirstie, but I was working on getting over that too.

On the Friday before the accident, Amanda came in early and we got on just fine. She wanted to buy a dress and was in and out of the store looking for some feedback and someone to shop with her. Kirstie came in, fresh from her trip to New York, and she hugged me and behaved like there was nothing sour between us, so I was on the rise. She disappeared a little later, to the displeasure of Amanda who couldn't get a hold of her, but everything seemed fairly back on track. We were all planning to go on the trip to Springfield together for Amanda's birthday, we were all smiling and in pleasant moods, everything seemed right in the world, like pieces of a puzzle were back in place after a bigger, meaner kid had come by and tossed them about. And then on Saturday, at two-thirty in the morning, Amanda fell asleep at the wheel and rolled her car.

Of course, at two-in-the-morning, I was asleep.

I woke up on Saturday in a good mood, plans for the week nearly set, a good night's rest behind me, with every reason to smile. Until I opened Facebook and saw Kirstie's status: "Amanda rolled her car... Waiting by the phone isn't good enough for me. To the hospital I go."

I called Kirstie, no answer. I called Amanda, no answer. I text messaged both and received no response. My fear bled into anger, annoyance, and frustration--as it tends to. If Amanda were seriously injured, surely someone would have called? Unless, of course, no one wanted me around an injure or be-coma'd Amanda. That was the thought that stuck with me.

Why didn't I get a call? Why did I find out through Facebook?

Surely I am not the only one who would find learning a good friend was in a car accident over Facebook a bit disheartening. What kind of friendship did I have with these girls if I was left in the dark when they needed friendship and love most? Needless to say, I was hurt.

From psychology I know that many of the thoughts passing through my head at the time were irrational. Don't give me the shit that "it isn't about me," because the rational person inside of me wasn't worried about me; it was fully aware of the skewed perception of my overlaying thoughts. I was worried about Amanda; but also about my friendships, and about the fabric of everything I had in Oklahoma being ripped apart but the sudden realization that none of it was true. People can blame me for being selfish in that time, but sitting in the dark, alone in my room, staring at a Facebook status message that could literally be life-altering...well, I can only imagine what anyone else in my shoes would have been thinking, about themselves or otherwise.

I was terrified, of so many things, and terror tends to breed anger when mixed with misunderstanding and lack of communication.

So, I went to the gym....I went to the gym and used my anger and frustration as fuel. It worked for the duration of my workout, but when I got home my attitude was once again diminishing into a sulking, slouched beast weighed down by hurt. That's when Raye called.

He told me about the accident, about her parents' wishes that she have few visitors in the first day out of surgery, about calling Kirstie because Kirstie had called Amanda when she'd flipped her car. I just listened quietly, let it sink in what had happened to my friend. I told Raye to let me know when I could come by, but ultimately decided to keep my distance.

I called Kirstie and left a message, simply stating that I had heard and was there if she needed to talk. Then I sat and stared at the wall for a while until the urge to feel something else overwhelmed me and I turned on an episode of Monty Python and tried to laugh it out. It's my mantra, I might as well've put it to use.

Kirstie called and spoke to me for less than two minutes. Essentially, she'd called Sam instead of me, probably because Sam is a closer friend of her's than I am, but the excuse was that he was a closer friend of Amanda's, and I wasn't really buying it. She hung up to call Sam, and I finally just asked, via text, why I didn't get called.

"It's not about you."

You're right. But, I don't think she would have been feeling the same if it had been the other way, if I had let her know from my Facebook status message. I know I would have never done that, no matter how malicious I was feeling toward her. I would have called her the moment I heard. I know that about myself, so maybe I can't understand it when that isn't the way other people work. Needless to say, I was feeling dejected. Someone I considered a very good friend was in a severe accident, and all of our friends where essentially telling me to stay away. I just don't know how I was supposed to feel. I wanted to be scared for Amanda, but I didn't have nearly enough information to know how bad it was. I went uninformed and unfocused. I felt like I wasn't a friend; I felt like I was nobody; I felt like I wasn't worthy of concern for someone I loved. I felt bad.

Sunday morning I caught Raye on Facebook and said I'd be by on Monday, because I had to work and I had to go to the gym and I just didn't think I'd have time. I felt deeply guilty and selfish. I knew it was a little bitchy of me, but I was feeling dejected and expecting several people to be there; I didn't want to be in the way, or feel like I was in the way, which I think is worse. So, I was going to stay away. I'm so glad I didn't.

I skipped the gym and hopped in the car. I grabbed caffeine for Raye and myself and brought Amanda a cup even though I thought she may not really need coffee. Coffee is a comfort, coffee makes us feel normal and successful and together...so I take coffee to people whom I don't know what to say. Coffee speaks volumes, and having brought something always makes us feel like we're doing something right, something to help, even if really all we're doing is caffeinating the severely injured.

Raye was the only person there when I walked in and Amanda was truly glad to see me. I started to get over it right that second, my attention settled on my friend, my desire to overcome bad feelings stronger than my anger. I just wanted to be there for my friend. To see what had happened, to understand what was happening, to assist in any way I can with whatever knowledge I have. So I sat next to her, and Raye left us alone, and Amanda and I chatted as she received morphine and fought off infection. Kirstie wasn't there. I don't know where she was. I was expecting her to be there, I was expecting to feel all kinds of unwanted, hurt feelings, I was expecting to realize this wasn't truly part of my story, just an anecdote, a name drop somewhere in my memoirs and a motivation to move on. I was expecting this situation to hardly include me and for it to mean nothing more for me than "I didn't come here to make friends...." I shouldn't have expected anything other than to see my friend, and my attitude changed right-fucking-there.

Hospitals have this effect on me; they make me want to work harder and do better and they motivated me to do something with my life. I love to be in hospitals, love to look at X-Rays and talk to patients and understand situations and diagnoses. I love the science and the humanity and even the florescent lighting and small spaces. I knew going to the hospital in itself was going to heal me just a little, if only until I walked into the room where Amanda lay. What I didn't expect was for the situation, for the broken bones and the smell of sanitizer and the gravity of reality, to heal me. I didn't expect that a girl with a cracked fibula and busted ankle, lying in a hospital bed, the farthest thing from helpless anyone can be, would heal me. I probably should have seen that coming. But we never see it coming.

I stayed as late as I could and went everyday after that (excluding Tuesday, because she had her second surgery, and she wasn't out by the time I had to work). I brought coffee and food, Eddie Izzard DVDs and even a stuffed bear that sings a Beatles song. But, what I really did was sit next to her, talk when she wanted to talk, watch TV and just be there for the hard parts and the silly ones. I watched her be strong when most of us would be depressed wrecks. I listened to her determination. I felt her gratitude at my presence and my own love for my friend growing with each passing hour of nurses stopping by, VACs sucking at her wounds, medication dripping into veins, and ortho techs in and out with machines meant for exercising otherwise stagnant muscles. Just to be next to her made me better, filled me with hope at her survival of this situation, of her growing physical and emotional strength. It made me better, knowing that I could be there, and it wasn't unnoticed. Raye, myself, her mother and father, we spent the most time in that room; knowing we were there helped her, gave her patience and reassurance, made her feel loved and so she returned it. "The greatest thing you'll ever learn, is just to have loved and be loved in return." I guess that's why it felt so good. I guess that's why it was so healing. I can't really explain it any better than that. I can't really put it into words. I knew I was loved, I knew my being there, my rationality and my humor, my desire to just chill, I knew that was appreciated. And I appreciated the opportunity. It made me better.

I know now, after all of it, that my relationship with Amanda is strong. I love her very much, I love who she is and the fun we have, I love what she thinks and how rational she is. I love just knowing she's my friend. No, I didn't come to Oklahoma to make friends for life. I didn't come to do anything but do what needed to be done so I could leave again. But, if I get Amanda's friendship out of it, it's a happy coincidence in my book. A very happy coincidence.

As far as Kirstie goes...that's another just as long story.

Kirstie hadn't been to the hospital much, and I could tell it was bothering both Amanda and Raye. It was bothering me too, since she basically declared herself Amanda's Borders Bestie, and then she just wasn't there. We felt like she was different since returning from New York, and I personally wasn't to impressed by her new behavior. Mostly, I was still a bit hurt by her actions toward me. I told myself it was silly to think she was purposefully cutting me out of the whole situation, but I didn't think I was wrong either. You see, she and Amanda had given us these nicknames a few months earlier, and frankly I wasn't too interested in being given a nickname, I was just interested in being me for once. But, I smiled and went along with it, even though I felt it was more a thing between the two of them than me. It was like an invite into a club I wasn't actually welcome into...that's sort of how it felt, being given a nickname essentially because they wanted something more out of their group than maybe I could give. But, the inclusion was nice, so I just let them play.

Well...apparently the inclusion was temporary, because the nickname I was assigned was reassigned shortly there after. The thing that is upsetting isn't the reassignment of the name. It wasn't a name a particularly wanted in the first place. I truly was just happy being Rachel. For the first time, I felt like I was being accepted for being Rachel...I didn't want to be somebody else. What hurt is that it was hidden from me. Maybe because Kirstie thought it would hurt my feelings to know I was no-longer than person in her eyes--a person who isn't actually me to begin with--or maybe she really was just trying to cut me out. I don't know. What I know is this: she covered it up. I figured it out anyway; I mean, it wasn't like she was terribly secretive about it. She just was never open about it. Add to it the fact that after the letter I wrote, she was angry with me, the feeling of love I once thought I felt from her was strained if not disjointed. I think she was detaching from me. And, that's okay. What isn't okay is just cutting somebody out when you've told them you'll be there, no matter the shit they give or how much they push away. What isn't okay is closing off. What isn't okay is not communicating. Sam can have the nickname. Sam can be the bestie. I never had delusions that Kirstie was my best friend. All I wanted were people around me that could be supportive and fun. The kind of people whom, with their spontaneity and joy towards life, could help me capture my will to live and help me move forward from this precipice I've been walking for years now. Instead, I got hurt when I probably shouldn't have gotten hurt. I've been abandoned--many, many times. It hurts like hell and it's my worst fear, but I can cope with it...I can grow from it--I must grow from it. I must overcome it and realize that people don't abandon you because of you; most of the time, people abandon because of people. I think I am starting to get that.

So, no, I didn't move back to Oklahoma to make friends for life. To make besties who would stick it out with me to the bitter end. If it happens, than I will take it and the feeling I get when I go away--as I know I will--with a grain of salt. If it doesn't, that isn't the worst thing that could happen. I will make friends everywhere I go. Not all of them--no, certainly, most of the--are going to be lifers. But they come when they are needed, they heal as they are meant to, and I go off better; hopefully they do too.

I have learned this: that I don't want to love unless they want to love, that I don't want to work on friendship unless they want to work on friendship. I know that there are some things about me that aren't perfect, I know that I get too hurt too easily. But, I also know that if I don't start finding people who want to be my friends, who want to be friends with Rachel, as she is, than I will never find the right people I need in my life. Let alone the kind of people I want to love and to know. So, if you don't want to be my friend, I don't want to be yours. Just say it, and I will move on. Yeah, it might hurt me a little, but everything hurts me a little, it's just part of who I am. I get over it, I move on, and I find someone else who wants everything I want. I find someone like Amanda, or like Raye. I impress people by being the true friend, the loyalist I am. I can be that for you, but only if you're willing to do the same. Only if you're willing to be open. Only if you want me too.

So as far as it goes, Kirstie, friendship, life...I'm done looking out for the life-changers, the things that will make me, the friends of a lifetime. Things will come when they come. Changes will happen because that is the nature of change. I am open to anything. Any body. Any idea.

I am focusing on the people I know love me, am allowing myself to be open and kind to the people around me, and am worrying only about those things that only I can change. I will get my weight off, I will do everything I said I would, and I will move on...it's already happening...I can feel it.

I want to be good, I want to be kind, I want to be smart, I want to be better.

I'm getting to be everything I ever wanted to be. I'm actually going to get there.

We're Breakable--But, I'm Not Breaking Anymore