[Continued from "Courtney X."]

We had talked a couple of times, and it did seem as though we could be friends again.  At least for me, it felt as if we’d never stopped; it was all cliché and felt like, to me, that we hadn’t lost any time at all in the three-plus years we hadn’t spoken.  It was how I’d always felt with my step-sister after having not talked to her for a while.

Only my step-sister and I had never had any falling outs (fallings out?) where we had told each other what we really thought of each other.  And we were family, even if it was by marriage.

Courtney told me that after our first conversation (after several years of not talking) she cried because she had missed me so much.  One of the reasons I was friends with Courtney in the first place was because she was so open with her feelings.  She was always complimentary and quick to tell her friends what it was about them that she liked so much.  That’s nice to hear.  One of the other reasons we were friends in the first place was because I was so proud of her bravery.

She had been with the same guy for years.  They were engaged.  The destination (Hawaii) wedding was planned.  She had the wedding dress.  And then she broke it off.  It was so brave and smart and self-aware an act that I couldn’t help but be drawn to her.  Most people say years later, after they’ve been married to someone they probably shouldn’t have married in the first place, that they knew on their wedding day but by then it was too late.  Well, Courtney knew and while many would have considered it “too late” considering the investment that had already gone into the wedding, she called it off.  Her finacé was devastated but she was absolute.  She moved into her own apartment and embraced single life with gusto.

It was years later, when she was in an emotionally and physically abusive relationship, that I realized she wasn’t as brave as I thought.  I encouraged her to leave the asshole.  My then-husband and I offered to help pack the asshole’s crap and change her locks to help protect her.  Except for spending the night at my house a few times when she was truly scared for her safety, she didn’t take our advice or offers of help.  She actually told me that being single was worse than being with the asshole.

So she wasn’t all that brave and she was stupid.  Then she got pregnant.  Holy fuck, so fucking stupid!  Just as all her friends had been telling her to leave the asshole, we told her to move the fuck out of the state so it would be that much harder for the asshole to have any parental rights.  In the mean time the asshole was still living with her and still being abusive.

We talked – she in Florida, me in Illinois.  She asked for my address.  Eventually a package from Harry & David came.  The amount of packaging was fucking ridiculous because the chicken pie was shipped on dry ice to assure freshness.  I still have the Styrofoam ice chest because I thought it should get more than one use before sitting in a landfill for eternity.

The chicken pie is not the chicken pot pie Harry & David now sells.  The chicken pie that Courtney thought I would enjoy had a very rich, buttery top- and bottom-crust, chicken, and gravy.  That is it.  Absolutely no vegetables.  The Viking and I ate it, for sure, but because it was so fucking rich that pie lasted the two of us over five separate meals.

Why did she think I’d like it?  I think I remember cooking for her, and I would have never made anything like that.  I remember one time having dinner at her house and helping her out cooking some sort of chicken-breast-in-tasteless-sauce dish so I think the chicken pie was something she would have liked.  Yes, the gift was a nice gesture, but it also highlighted how little she knew me – in 2007 or in 2011.

Nonetheless, I thanked her for the gift and I thought all was good.  We talked a few more times.  She always talked about her kid as if I was supposed to give a shit, and I pretended to give a shit.

One night I was up very late imbibing in alcoholic beverages.  I got to drunk dialing.  It was so late that I assumed I’d just leave a message and that would be that.  I called a few people that night, and all but Courtney took it for what it was, simple drunk dialing.  I’m one of those happy drunks for the most part so I probably said something about how happy I was that we were friends again, in a drunken drawl, of course.

The next day I was walking Isis when I saw there was a message on my phone.  My phone is always on silent so I wasn’t surprised that I had missed it ringing.  I was surprised when I heard the message.  It was Courtney sternly telling me not to call her at 4-something in the a.m. ever again.  I was surprised because I had forgotten I had made the call in the first place, and also because she sounded so upset.  Who doesn’t like to wake up to a message from a friend making a drunken fool of herself?

Apparently Courtney, that’s who.  My call had actually woken her up because she left her ringer on at night and she was “worried” about me because I was up so late.  What the fuck‽  I’m a big girl and I can stay up all night if I want to, dammit.  I don’t need her to worry about me, and I certainly don’t worry about her.  She thought my call was some sort of cry for help.  “Hey, friend who lives 1000 miles from me, please help me, I stay up too late.”  I don’t fucking think so.

I called and left a message.  I told her that I was sorry that I woke her up, that it wasn’t my intention, that she needn’t worry about me, that I’d take her off my drunk dial list.  I thought that was that.

She had also written me a message on Facebook telling me that her kid was sick (don’t care) and that she was genuinely worried (don’t bother) and felt bad because she thought I needed her.  Then I remembered how Courtney was.

Courtney was the kind of friend who said she’d do something and then flaked.  She flaked because she had overextended herself and didn’t have the balls to say no to anyone.  She thought a friend “always” helped out a friend so she had to say yes to everything.  I would much rather someone tell me they can’t do something then expect them to do it – because they said they could – and then flake.

She was taking on the responsibility of worrying about my well-being but I hadn’t even asked her.  What I did ask her was for the song lists of all the “Courtney” CDs I had ever given her.

I had asked many times.  She said they were in storage.  Then she moved.  I gave her plenty of time to unpack and asked again.  Still nothing.

My drunk dial “incident” happened in early December 2011.  In early January 2012 I told her what DropBox was and that if she wanted any more music from me that was how I was going to share it rather than burning CDs and mailing them.  By late January, when I still hadn’t heard from her, I sent her a message, “I’m assuming you’re not communicating w/me again. That’s fine.  Could you just do the minimal and let me know the song lists of the ‘Courtney’ CDs you have? It has literally been years since I asked.”

All I wanted was for her to put the fucking CDs in her fucking computer and let iTunes tell her what songs, and in what order, were on each of the CDs I had made for her.  There were less than ten CDs and all she had to do was copy the lists and paste them into an email.  When I had made the CDs the song order was very important, as I had crafted the songs to flow into each other.

Though I hadn’t heard from her since early December 2011, on the very same day in late January 2012 that I sent my final request for the song lists, she responded, “Well since you asked so nicely. I do not know the song lists of CD’s you gave me years ago.”

The next message I sent to her was nasty.  I told her exactly what I thought of her.  I knew that I was burning a bridge and closing a door and it felt fucking fantastic.  As a final fuck you I sent her a post card reiterating that we can’t be friends but that I learned from the friendship we had had.

I no longer keep the “Courtney” music in CD-length groups; they’re just “Courtneys.”  There’s a lot of good music, but sadly it’s still not all the songs I ever put on the “Courtney” CDs.  If you’re interested in getting 175 songs that range from heartbreaking to funny to rocking to plain ol’ bad and you have a DropBox account, let me know and I’ll happily share with you.

I swear.  True story.

Tags: booze, Chicago, disaster, idiot, manners, words count

Categories: True Story.

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