Thank You, Candy

I got to do a really satisfying thing recently; I got to deliver a long overdue thank you to a friend.

All the way back in tenth grade, Candy and I got into a fight.  I remember arguing in front of my locker.  I remember being stubbornly angry.  I remember us defiantly parting ways.  I have no recollection the reason for any of it.  I do know after that day, it was the end of our friendship in the joined-at-the-hip way we'd been accustomed to; it was always superficial after that.  And I missed her constantly.

A little background:
A couple years earlier, eighth grade started a rough stretch in my life.  Amongst my many turmoils, I gave the rumor mill its first tiny seed, and it blossomed into a beautiful nightmare.  The blatantly false tales of my promiscuous behavior grew to fantastical proportions.  I was challenged to fights by girls who'd heard I was trying to force oral sex on their boyfriends.  There was no shortage of guys willing to say they'd seen or participated with me in public orgies.  Several friends joined the chorus of jokes and jabs.  I was a 13 year-old pariah.

Ninth grade had just begun when I received a visitor who'd heard my place equaled action.  I had the misfortune of being home alone (but spared the full act).  My attacker wasted no time the next Monday bragging he had firsthand knowledge that the rumors were all true.  A friend told the school counselor, the police were called, and my circle of friends shrunk.

More humiliating than having the bruised bite marks photographed, or turning over torn clothes and the vulgar recordings left on my answering machine, was facing my peers at school.  Everyday I was tormented with questions like, "how can you do that to him? He has a girlfriend, and you're a slut." Ouch.

Important Aside:
I don't tell the story to garner sympathy, but to give context for my thank you.  The scars from that time are barely visible now, even to me, but I do know where to look for them.  It is the reason I take great care with the secrets people entrust to me, but live my own life like a wide-open book.  It is also the reason I do my level best to never lead with judgement, and bristle when people speak in absolutes.

When I testified in court, my mother and brother were considered witnesses and could not sit with me.  But I did have one person by my side, holding my hand and encouraging me-Candy.  I remember what all of us were wearing that day.  I remember the questions I was asked.  I remember the answers he gave.  And I remember Candy's voice.

At the time of our fight I was 15, and only in the infancy of my mental recovery.  I didn't yet understand how the events of those years would inform so many decisions and sacrifices I would make.  But I always felt the loss of Candy's friendship.

When I roll around the events of my life, I inevitably come back to those years, and that incident.  I occasionally search the sex offender registry (he's on it for subsequent crimes), but he's not really the point.  I think about Candy.  It has always been deeply meaningful to me that she stood by me during a time it was incredibly unpopular do so.  Candy was a friend when I needed her most.

More than once over the years, Candy and I crossed paths, and I wanted to hug her and tell her I miss her.  And thank you.  But I just couldn't help wonder if we were still fighting?  And what the hell were we fighting about?  (We've since determined that neither of us have any idea.)  My timing was impetuous and odd, but I finally got my chance.

So I told her.  And we hugged and I cried.  And then we relived all sorts of happy memories.  And a gigantic weight was lifted.

Thank you, Candy.