[img]396|left|Alex Campbell||no_popup[/img] Last weekend, I stayed overnight with my best friend from college.
Our friendship began with a phone call during the first week of school.
Back in those days, there were pay phones in the hallway. When the pay phone rang, whoever was closest answered it and went to get the recipient.
Since the phones were right across from my room, I answered them a lot. On that particular evening, a man was calling for someone named Nykki. We became fast friends after I told her that the phone was for her, whispering, “It’s a guy!”
Nykki and I were opposites in terms of family closeness. At19, I traveled by train from New York City to Cambridge, Massachusetts, by myself to move into the dorms.
My divorced parents were not there with me to help decorate my room, take me out to lunch or cry when it was time to say goodbye.
Learning to Fend Alone
I stayed at school every weekend, and I only went home when school closed for vacation. In contrast, both of Nykki’s parents dropped her off, and she went to her hometown 45 minutes away almost every weekend.
I began to go home with her.
I enjoyed the cozy atmosphere and nurturing ways of her parents. We’d eat meals together, talk, and take the dog out for walks.
On one occasion I wasn’t feeling well, and Nykki’s mom Fran cooed to me, “Would you like a bathrobe and a nap? Go on upstairs, I’ve made the bed for you.”
I snuggled up in a cozy bathrobe and got tucked in. I felt like I was back in the womb. It felt so good to be taken care of; after that, I sometimes feigned illness just so that Fran would mother me.
Mike, Nykki’s dad, was different from my own father. Mike was a very kind man, gentle and quiet. His way of being nurturing was through talking. We’d have short conversations about different things, and he’d ask questions. He never preached, but I knew where he stood, and I always wanted to do right by him. Nykki and I grew very close during our freshman year. Nykki’s family became my own; I had a new mom, dad, grandparents, even a younger sister!
Too Good to Last?
Sophomore year was not as blissful as our freshman year. Over the summer I acquired a boyfriend, and I was homesick during the first few weeks back at school. I called my mother to tell her that I didn’t feel like staying at school, and she said, “Come home.”
Although it was hard to leave Nykki, I went back to New York City and transferred to a city college. Shortly thereafter, my mother’s alcoholism got the best of her, and she died. I was 21.
I stayed in touch with Nykki; I went to her college graduation, the one I would have participated in if I had stayed. At 24, I decided to try a third college, this time back in the Boston area. It was at that college that I got a devastating phone call: Fran had killed herself by walking on a frozen pond, drowning.
The day after she died, I received a card from her, telling me to live life the way I wanted to, not how other people wanted me to. I went to Nykki’s house to be with her. It was at our college weekend home that I cried over the death of my mom, and then of my surrogate mom. The loss was immense.
Shortly after Fran’s death, Nykki got married. I went to the wedding, and I saw her about five years later when she was pregnant with her first child. We lost touch after that because her husband was in the military, and they moved around a lot.
Shock and Adjustment
Nykki (who now goes by Nicole and Nic) and I recently got back in touch, after10 years. She was planning a trip “back home,” and I quickly agreed to go home with her. It would be just like old times, minus Fran. I couldn’t wait to see Mike. I had a picture in my head of the house. I wondered which room I would sleep in. I’d take a shower in the bathroom with the plaid shower curtain. I’d sit in the family room, talk with Mike, and have a cup of tea. I knew the dog wasn’t with us anymore, but I still imagined her lifting each paw to be wiped of mud after a walk in the woods.
Nic picked me up at the train station, just like she used to. We drove for a few minutes, and arrived at…a house I didn’t recognize. I sort of stuttered and said, “What’s this?” Nic replied, “I told you! My dad got a new house, and I said it was closer to the train station.” Somehow in the conversations leading up to this visit, I had missed that piece of vital information. I was totally caught off guard. I burst into tears. I wouldn’t see the house I had known, the little Cape-style house with the slamming screen door. This house was big and new and light. I tried to compose myself for Nic’s daughters, who came out of the house to greet me.
I took a deep breath, wiped my eyes, and said hi, trying to sound cool and nonchalant. Inside the house (six years old, but very new to me), I hugged Nic’s husband Bob, and Mike, both of whom looked exactly the same. I met Mike’s new wife, Jeanne (of five years, but new to me), and took a tour of the house, which was completely different than the house I was used to. I have a hard time with change. I instantly broke into my defense mechanism, using humor to make myself feel comfortable. When I made Nic’s nine year-old daughter laugh, I calmed down and was able to enjoy myself.
Adapting to Newness
Nic and I talked and laughed as if we were back at school. We told stories of our lives, went shopping, ate lunch, and hung out on the (new) leather couch. Mike asked me all about my job, and was not very talkative about my new tattoos. I got to know the girls a little, and tried to impress my new stepmom (Mike’s wife? Grammy?) with the story of a lion who was reunited with his owners after a year in Africa.
The front door of the house chimed whenever it was opened. There was no bench to sit on at the table. There were lots and lots of windows. Muzak on the radio. Pictures of Mike and Jeanne everywhere. It was different, different, different. When I saw a painting that had been in the old house, I fought to keep back the tears.
The leather couches were very comfortable. The food was delicious. I made Jeanne smile a few times. I even sang along to an instrumental Barry Manilow tune. When Nic’s 98-year-old grandmother came by for a visit, she said she remembered me. I realized that I didn’t go “home” again, but this new place wasn’t so bad. I accidentally left a couple of things at the house. Guess I’ll just have to go back.
Ms. Campbell may be contacted at campbellalexandra@hotmail.com
