How Courtney and I (reluctantly) became friends

It’s my friend Courtney’s birthday, and I’ve decided to take a trip down memory lane and reflect on the bizarre way that our friendship formed.

We met in the first grade, when we both had separation anxiety and absolutely dreaded going to school. Every morning, when my mom dropped me off, I would wrap my arms around her and refuse to let go. I screamed, I kicked, I cried and I even tried to bargain (“Please, I’ll let you home-school me and be the best student ever!”) as various staff members attempted to pry me off of her. Courtney had a more discreet method, and would make multiple trips to the nurse’s office in hopes of getting sent home. In order to comfort us and ease our anxieties, our mothers would stand outside of our classroom window and wave while we wiped our tears and adjusted to the horror of being in class. It was here, in these times of panic and distress, that the foundation of our friendship was built. Bonded by our severe school anxiety, we became best friends (with a third girl, who we don’t talk about). This friendship only lasted one year, since I ended up moving, and we did not keep in touch. 

Fast forward to about thirteen years later, when I was taking a young adult fiction and film class in college. I was still a fairly anxious individual (as was Courtney) and did not make an effort to develop new friendships. In addition, this particular class did not offer a calm and friendly environment, as the professor wanted us to reveal the nitty-gritty details of our adolescent lives. He attempted to spark conversation by blurting out very personal details about his adolescence, such as, “I know when I watched pornography for the first time, I learned that my penis was inadequate!” 

It took two months for me to realize that one of the girls in my class looked  familiar. I thought it was because she resembled Marcia Brady, or maybe my brain was responding to the trauma of my professor’s over-sharing by projecting familiar faces onto strangers, but as we passed around the project sign up sheet, I recognized her name. I immediately re-introduced myself as her friend from the first grade, and she appeared a bit creeped out, but then remembered me (or at least she pretended to remember me). We made plans to get lunch, and had what was essentially a very awkward first date. We discussed our interests, talked about how our lives had been for the past thirteen years, and cleared up some conflicting information that we both had. Courtney asked me about Florida, because she was under the impression that I had moved there (I had not). I asked Courtney about her mother’s professional basketball career, and found out that she doesn’t have one (her mom once used a basketball to get our frisbee out of a tree, and my six-year-old self thought that this meant she was a pro-athlete). I also asked Courtney if she should be eating a sugary snack (because of her diabetes) and she told me that she has never had diabetes. Needless to say, we really didn’t know anything about each other.

The lunch date was an isolated occurrence, and once our class ended, we made no effort to keep in touch. One year later, we had a terrible snow storm and campus was practically abandoned. There were only five people waiting with me for the commuter bus, and one of those people happened to be Courtney. We attempted uncomfortable small-talk as the bus skidded along the icy streets and ultimately made the silent decision that we would continue our pattern of not keeping in touch. Another year passed. 

When we were juniors in college, we ended up in the same Women’s Studies class. Since we figured the universe must have really wanted us to be friends, we sat next to each other and shared pages from a crossword puzzle book (A+ students). Courtney invited me to her house to study for a midterm, and I was hesitant to go. “I already have two friends…do I really need a third?” I recall asking myself as I pulled up in front of her house. It wasn’t until we spent the majority of our study time talking about ghosts and sharing morbid stories as the sun went down, leaving us completely in the dark, that I realized that I did in fact need Courtney as my friend. I guess she felt the same way, because we actually did make the effort to keep in touch. She is now one of my best friends. Not only do we consistently speak to each other, but we also craft, sketch, watch disturbing documentaries and take road trips to haunted locations and ivy league schools (spooky and pretentious). The universe overpowered our stubborn anxieties and persistent loner tendencies, and that’s one thing I think that we will both always be grateful for.