The Beginning of Forever
I've been trying to identify exactly when and how Chandra and I came to be friends. I've been poring over old Journal entries, paging through my high school yearbooks trying to pin it down and so far I've been unsuccessful. I'll probably have to read every entry between the fall of 1988 and the spring of 1990 to figure it out, and even then I'm not sure I'll have an answer. All I know is that Chandra Maloney and I met our freshman year of high school, and somewhere between then and the end of our sophomore year we became the best of friends. It's been 32 years.
A Stick in Time
In my memory, it was camp meeting 1990, the end of tenth grade. We were sitting in the grass by the ball field watching a softball game. But then it could just as easily have been an intramural game at "rec" during the school year, because Chandra referenced this moment in the page-long entry she left in my school annual that year. So either she signed my yearbook late, after school was out, or this happened different than I remember. But what I remember was that it was camp-meeting. Veggie dogs and snow cones were being sold from the pathfinder trailer, all of Adventist Florida was gathered in one place, and it was a sticky summer night. From somewhere we scrabbled together two sticks, carved in each stick our initials, CM and SM, and the words "Friends Forever" and exchanged the sticks. We promised to keep those sticks always as a reminder of our solemn vow. I don't know where that stick is now, and that bothers me. I know I would never have knowingly thrown it away, so I can only assume it is stored away somewhere, awaiting resurrection, just as my dear friend now is. As for the promise, that has never been lost, through all the ups and downs that would follow.
Two Fish Out of Water
Chandra was kind. She was genuine. She was unpretentious. She felt things very deeply and had a compassionate heart. She was fiercely loyal. She was a good listener and could provide insightful advice. In short she was everything you could ask for in a friend. I felt through much of high school like a fish out of water. I never felt sure that I belonged. The one black kid, surrounded by white people, I often felt like an imposter. Surely, people looked at me and thought "What is he doing here?" I don't know if that feeling has ever fully gone away. But Chandra never made me feel like that. As I've gotten older I've realized that sense of "not belonging", of being somehow not a part of things is more widespread than I realized. That even the most glamorous lives harbor the same doubts, the same fears of being exposed as an interloper, the same anxieties about rejection and loss. I think Chandra felt those same things too, and I think in each other we found someone who provided a safe harbor, a place where we could be ourselves and be accepted and loved for who we truly were. As recently as this summer when I embarked on a journey to speak in honest anger about what it meant to be black like me, Chandra reached out to let me know that she stood with me, that she loved me, and most importantly that she saw me and heard me. That meant so much.
School Days & Friend Zones
There are so many memories of Chandra that I treasure. We took Chemistry together at Lake Brantley High School the summer after our sophomore year. We took Biology I together, went on that epic disaster of a Biology II marine biology field trip the Florida Keys, and sat next to each other in Dr. Viar's Anatomy & Physiology class our senior year. Chandra sat in front of me during Captain Coolidge's 11th grade American History class and we'd whisper quietly, or trade notes everyday all through class, while Captain read from the history textbook from his desk at the front. We commiserated together over our various unrequited loves. Each of us carried torches for someone who kept us resolutely in the "friend zone" (I will not mention their names here though anyone who knew us during those mid-high school years will know exactly who they were!) We supported each other in heartache for our unreturned love, counseled and encouraged each other. And when the miracle of miracles happened, and Chandra's longtime love suddenly found he too had feelings for her, swept into town (he no longer attended our school) and swept her off her feet, just like in a movie, I rejoiced with her. The fantasy romance come to life was short-lived, and I was also there for her when the long-hoped for relationship petered out.
"I'll Be There for You"
Chandra and I shared a lot of mutual friends. Some of my closest friends were also some of hers. Especially through much of our junior year we ran with the same crowd--a clique so tight, it even had a name: The Group. The Group parked our cars next to each other in the school parking lot. The Group studied at each others houses virtually every night, with Geri Haupt's house the most popular rendezvous. I can still remember "(Can't Live Without Your) Love and Affection" playing on the radio as I pulled my blue 86 Corolla into the line of cars on Geri's front lawn: Jeff's white Nissan, Chandra's gray Honda Accord, Greg's Civic hatchback, Chris's bright red Mustang, Pamela's Plymouth, and Anita's sporty black Honda. I'd rush to towards the welcoming warmth of the Haupt house, books in hand, ready for an evening of studying and friendship. It was like being in a TV show about friends. And like a TV show, there was drama with the Group. Lots of drama. There were crushes and frenemies (sometimes they were the same people), there were misunderstandings and arguments--a few days where people stopped talking. And then started talking again. And like a TV show, eventually The Group got cancelled. And for a few months it seemed that maybe our friendship had been cancelled too. But Forever was the deal, and our friendship renewed and continued even as our circle of friends broadened and matured.
The Maloney Home
The Dark Ages
Senior year was one of the best times in Chandra and I's friendship. We were very close that year. Both of us were battling our own demons then and we often leaned on each other for support. I began a slide into a dark depression that would last throughout the second half of my senior year and into the summer after graduation. Through much of that time, Chandra was my rock, a source of encouragement and hope when I needed it most. Particularly meaningful was our date to the annual Junior-Senior Banquet. We went "as friends", rather than romantic partners, and I remember clearly how momentarily free she made me feel that night, laughing and joking with me on the bus to Medieval Times. To be with someone without complications, to be with a true friend, was just the medicine I needed to keep going.
College Days
Our freshman year of college, Chandra and I finally parted ways. I set off to reinvent myself at Andrews University, a personal odyssey that was absolutely necessary for me. Chandra, like most of our friends went to Southern Adventist University (then Southern College). But even though we were no longer a minutes drive away, separated by hundreds of miles, Chandra and I grew closer than ever. She'd write me every week, sometimes more than once a week, and I did the same. We supported each other through the stormy adjustment of college life. Chandra became increasingly disenchanted with Southern, and after her freshman year switched to Southwestern Adventist University. We continued to be close throughout our sophomore year of college, so much so that I decided to visit her at Southwestern on my spring break from Andrews that year. After the end of that school year, in the summer of 1994, I headed off to the islands of Chuuk for a life-changing year as a student missionary. I carried with me from Chandra, a favorite picture to pin on my bulletin board in my room, a card with words full of friendship and affection, and a gift of $200 cash to help me cover any initial expenses I'd encounter in my missionary journey.
Oceans Apart
It was here that it seemed oceans, time, the call of adulthood might have finally caused our friendship to become a memory. We stopped writing, stopped calling. We began to live separate lives. I met and married Barbara. She met and married Daren. We did not attend each other's weddings. I moved to Saipan for more than a decade. Chandra eventually ended up in southern California. I saw Chandra and Daren once, when Barbara and I were on our way out to Saipan. We met them for dinner at a Thai restaurant in Loma Linda, and it was lovely evening full of fond memories. But we didn't really keep in touch. Yet even in those years, I knew somehow that we were still friends. I talked about it in my 2007 blog series on the Most Influential People in My Life. Chandra was on that list, and in my tribute to her I expressed my belief that that our friendship, like that little stick she gave me was still there, waiting to be rediscovered.
Grown-ups
And beginning in 2009, it was. Chandra reached out to me on Facebook early in that year. She complimented me on the cute baby boy she'd seen in my Facebook posts and shared stories of her newly-born Kendal as well. Over the next 11 years, we'd stay in regular contact, exchanging warm messages at least a couple times each year, tracking the ups and downs of each other's lives. In 2014 I had meetings in California for a week and was able to spend two evenings with Chandra and Daren and their daughters. It felt good to reconnect, to keep that eternal flame of friendship burning. Life wasn't always easy for Chandra--she seemed to face challenge after challenge, and I know at times it must have been hard to hold on. But Chandra was a fighter, stronger and more courageous than she gave herself credit for. I admired so much her fierce will, her open heart, her deep determination. And I was honored to be able stand with her in those tough times, even if only through a PM, text message or phone call. It brought me joy to see her making her way, overcoming the challenges she faced. She hoped great things for the future, I believe. She was undaunted. She persisted.
And then she was gone.
The Silence
As our perfect as our friendship must sound, I assure you we had our share of hard times. On a few occasions we had big fights and Chandra simply stopped talking to me for awhile. I think of those times as The Silences. And they hurt. I can think of one particular time, the summer after our senior year of high school. We had been extremely close throughout the year, and that very closeness caused a sense of guilt to start gnawing at me. I had been keeping something from Chandra all year. I had been lying to her and the more I came to realize the value of her friendship the worse I felt about the lie. So finally, I came clean. And Chandra, was rightly furious. She stopped talking to me and the Silence began. She wouldn't take my calls, wouldn't read my letters. She refused to see me. And I was devastated. It seemed our friendship truly was at an end this time. In my desperation, I concocted a plan to at least see her. I called up Mrs. Maloney and told her I wanted to practice my swimming and would it be okay if I came by to practice in their pool a couple of times a week. Mrs. Maloney gladly agreed, and I started showing up every other day to swim in the pool. The gambit didn't work. Chandra studiously avoided me and I rarely saw her as I doggedly worked on my laps. Mrs. Maloney would smile sympathetically at me, as if to encourage me to be patient, that with time Chandra would come around. And Mrs. Maloney knew her daughter well, because come around she did. By the time we left for our separate colleges, our friendship was fully restored and stronger than ever. The Silence had ended. (And as a bonus, I was now a very strong swimmer, who could swim laps for thirty or more minutes without a break!).
Right now, feels like one of those Silences, except so much worse. This time it isn't a misunderstanding. It isn't a fight. It isn't hurt feelings. It is the cruelty of death, a life cut short far too soon that has brought about this most awful of Silences. She can't return my calls, or read my messages. She can't see me, or I her, again, in this life. And I am beyond devastated. It seems as if our friendship is truly at its end this time. Mrs. Maloney cannot offer me comfort this time, because she has experienced every parent's worst fear. The Silence is deafening. But in that silence God whispers to all of us who are brokenhearted, to all of us who love Chandra. He tells us to be patient, that in time He will bring Chandra around. She will be fully restored to us, stronger than ever. This is the last and longest Silence, but just like all the others it will end. We will hear her voice and her laugh. We will see her bright smile, unshadowed by pain. And on that beautiful day, our friendship will resume, this time to continue on--as we promised way back on that Forest Lake Academy lawn--forever.
Until then, I've got no choice but to keep swimming.
Friends Forever, Chandra. I can't wait to see you again.
We turn away to face the cold, enduring chill
The sun so bright it leaves no shadows
Only scars carved into stone
On the face of earth
The moon is up and over One Tree Hill
We see the sun go down in your eyes
You run like a river runs to the sea. . .
When the stars fall from the sky
And the moon has turned red
Over One Tree Hill
Run to the sea
We run like a river to the sea
And when it's raining
Raining hard
That's when the rain will
Break my heart. . .
"Therefore you too have grief now, but I will see you again; and your heart will rejoice, and no one will take your joy away from you."
--John 16:22
No comments:
Post a Comment