Tag: Friendship

Tracy’s gone ’round the sun 54 times today

General

Today is my bestie’s birthday. Tracy, I hope today was your best day yet, but not your best day ever. Many more and better to come!

I was going to write about the misunderstanding that pretty much sparked Tracy and my friendship, a friendship that has lasted for more than 24 years, but it turns out I’ve already written about it, briefly, at the start of this post, back in 2007:

Dream time

It’s a good post, but the focus there isn’t on Tracy, which is what it should be on her birthday.

When Tracy and I first became friends, we each admired the other’s honesty and bluntness. We quickly found out that we could safely say whatever was on our mind to each other, good or bad, and the other one would not take it the wrong way or get upset. Well, most of the time. But it was easier with each other than it was for other friendships, at least for my part.

Tracy was religious when we first met, and she might still be, but back then, to her, religious meant Christian, and specifically that weird modern American evangelicalism. It was the culture she was in, more than any kind of philosophy that she’d examined and concluded was right for her. And because of that, when she found out that I was an atheist, she was curious. She told me once that I was the first athiest she had ever known in her life. So she would ask me about it.

My memories of those conversations are fuzzy now. It’s entirely possible that I was overly proud of my rational lack of belief in God, or any gods, in a way that I would personally find insufferable if someone did that to me, today. But I liked Tracy, and we worked together, and so I worked really hard to just explain what I thought about things, and not poke Tracy’s beliefs that much. I do remember that she was surprised that I had actually read the Bible, in at least two editions, cover-to-cover. I pointed out that Christians don’t tend to read the Bible the way someone reads a novel, they study it, in sections, lead by a pastor or other authority figure, who picks out passages and explains the meaning they want the Bible Study Group to understand.

And over the years, Tracy has lost that specific kind of American Christianity worldview. I’m sure she believes there’s something out there, but she’s also aware that it’s probably not the evangelical conception of God. The world we live in is bigger than that.

I wish I could remember those conversations because those were the moments where I really got to understand Tracy. She’s got a big heart, and endless curiosity, and also a strong sense of justice. And infinite loyalty to people she sees as worthy, which, astonishingly, includes me, somehow. I’m a mess, and selfish, and weird, but she’s always got my back.

And I have hers. I would never knowingly let her down. She’s the best bestie.

If you’re reading this, take a moment to send Tracy some good thoughts. It’s not prayer, probably. Just positive vibes.

That was a 4.7 bar

General

“Was going to ask if you’d want to get a drink in your neighborhood after.

“I’ll be done at 3. No is always okay.

“Just thought I’d ask since I’m out here.”

It was my best friend, Tracy, texting me. I did want to hang out with her. Been kinda lonely ’round here lately. But…

I replied, “I would like to get a drink but I don’t know where.”

Her response came back almost immediately. “Is the bar across the street not good?”

Dad has been walking to the bar across the street pretty much daily while he’s been here. I’ve been in there exactly twice when I first moved in to this neighborhood and, no offense to dad, it was not my cup of tea. Run down, open, no dark corner to hide in, noisy. I just sent back the emoji that’s described as “grimacing face” which I interpret to mean anxious avoidance.

I looked up “bars near me” on Google. The one across the street had a 3.5 star rating, which seemed high compared to the last time I’d been in there, which to be fair was 4-5 years ago. I poked around and found one between where I lived and Tracy’s appointment and found one that was rated 4.7 stars, and sent her the link. We agreed to meet there after 3.

Part of my depression kept telling me it did not want to leave the house. I mostly ignored that part of me. I wanted to see my bestie.

We both pulled in to the parking lot at the same time, her from one side, me from the other. We hugged and went inside. It did not seem too bad; had a nice covered area, despite each table having a coffee can half-filled with cigarette butts. Inside was clean, about half-full of patrons. Music a bit loud for conversation — or maybe I’m getting old. We got drinks; me a black ale, her the prickly pear cider they had on tap, she ordered a BLT, we went outside.

It was good to see her. I felt a little of the stress and despair leave my body. We caught each other up on our individual drama, commiserated with each other, talked a little bit about politics. She complained about work, I complained about looking for work. It was good. We’ve known each other for decades. The familiarity is a comfort.

We were on our second round of drinks, Tracy’s BLT half gone, when she went inside to get a to-go box for the fries and half-sandwich. While she was gone, the bartender, a thin tough-looking woman my age or older, came out to talk to one of the other patrons on the patio. I didn’t pay much mind; she said something about the man’s wife that I didn’t register, turned to walk back inside, and the guy yelled back at her, angry and defensive, defending his wife about… something. The bartender turned on her heel and came back outside, leaning over him, not backing down, finger wagging in his face.

A crowd quickly formed. Tracy and I took long sips of our drinks, gave each other significant looks.

I held up my beer. “Think I can get a to-go cup for this?” She laughed.

We weren’t able to finish our drinks. It was clear we both wanted to escape before things escalated. As we walked out to the parking lot together, Tracy turned to me.

“I’m sorry you live in the ghetto, dude.”

Wonder if the 3.5 bar would have been better? At least they would have known my dad.