The Friendship That Changed Me Forever (Part 1)
How good is your memory?
I mean, really.
Do you remember the first friend you ever made?
Not the one you met in middle school.
Not the coworker you text memes to every Tuesday.
I’m talking about your very first friend.
The one whose name instantly takes you back to crayons, recess, fruit snacks, and backpacks that were way too big for your little shoulders.
I do.
She was a beautiful little light-skinned girl with those big, round glasses that every kid seemed to wear in the ’90s. Every time I think about her, I picture that sweet little Black girl from Matilda. If you know, you know.
From Day One in Mrs. Rothermel’s kindergarten class, we made one of those childhood promises that only kids believe in their whole hearts.
“We’re going to be best friends forever.”
Simple.
Certain.
Unquestionable.
At five years old, “forever” felt like a guarantee.
As adults…
We know better.
Life has a funny way of rewriting plans we were absolutely sure about.
Some friendships weather every storm imaginable.
Others slowly drift apart without either person realizing they’re standing on different shores.
Some people become lifelong blessings.
Others become life’s greatest lessons.
Neither one is wasted.
But if I’m being honest…
I still miss that little light-skinned girl with the big glasses.
It’s funny how life changes you while you’re busy living it.
One minute you’re racing each other across the playground…
…and the next you’re old enough to think you’re grown.
Speaking of grown…
Can we talk about the fact that I witnessed this girl getting married on the playground in elementary school?
Listen…
Mind your business.
The ’90s were a wild time.
And if that wasn’t enough, she got to witness one of the most embarrassing moments of my childhood.
Somewhere in my little mind, I thought I had a boyfriend.
Don’t judge me.
So, I decided to leave him a cute little voicemail.
Only…
It wasn’t his voicemail.
It was his mama’s.
Turns out that house phones don’t have separate mailboxes.
Who knew?
Well…
His mama heard every last word.
Then she did what any respectable mama would do.
She called my mama.
And just to make sure there was no confusion, she played my message for her too.
Let’s just say…
I got whooped straight out of my sleep.
Would not recommend it.
Those are the kinds of memories that become family stories.
We laughed.
We cried.
We survived childhood together.
She held me through my first real heartbreak.
I held her through hers.
For the longest time, I couldn’t imagine my life without her in it.
But somewhere between trying to figure out who I was and trying way too hard to fit in…
I lost myself.
You know that saying,
“Hurt people hurt people?”
I hate how true it was.
The hardest part about becoming an adult is realizing that sometimes…
you were the villain in someone else’s story.
I wish I could tell you I was a perfect friend.
I wasn’t.
While I was worried about fitting in, saying the right things, and being accepted by people who probably don’t even remember my name today…
she was carrying burdens that no teenager should’ve ever had to carry.
She lost her grandmother.
She bounced from house to house.
She was trying to survive while longing for stability, love, and somewhere to belong.
Instead of being a safe place…
I became another source of pain.
I talked about her.
I said things I never should’ve said.
Sometimes she heard them.
Sometimes she didn’t.
But that doesn’t make them hurt any less.
The girl who loved me like a sister deserved loyalty.
I gave her betrayal instead.
Eventually…
she walked away.
And honestly?
I don’t blame her.
For years, that friendship lived in the back of my mind like an unfinished sentence.
There were nights I’d lie awake replaying conversations that couldn’t be changed.
Moments I’d wish I could erase.
Words I’d give anything to take back.
I wanted to apologize.
Not because I wanted my guilt to disappear…
but because I wanted her to know she never deserved the version of me she got.
Life has a way of humbling you.
The older I became, the more I realized something that was difficult to admit.
The hardest part of healing isn’t always forgiving the people who hurt you.
Sometimes…
It’s learning how to forgive the version of yourself that became the person who caused the pain.
Then one day…
life did something I never expected.
It gave us another chance.
We found each other again.
No pretending.
No pride.
No pointing fingers.
Just two women sitting face-to-face with years of history between us.
I cried.
Real tears.
The kind that comes from carrying regret for far too long.
I apologized for everything.
I told her I wasn’t that same insecure teenage girl anymore.
Life had stretched me.
Broken me.
Humbled me.
Changed me.
And from the deepest place in my heart, I asked her to forgive me.
She did.
Not because the past disappeared.
But because grace has a beautiful way of making room for growth.
We chose to stop living in yesterday.
We chose each other again.
And for the first time in years…
My heart felt lighter.
Little did I know…
Our second chance would teach me a lesson our first friendship never could.
To be continued…
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