She Kicked Me When I Was Down
That outburst of rage was merely the straw that broke my back
My plan for this piece is somber. It’s a lengthy story about friendship, filled with hurt, anger, confusion, and unhealthy dynamics.
However, my thirty-year friendship with Wendy wasn’t all bad. (Why would you stick around if a relationship was consistently malicious?)
There was an enormous component of side-splitting hilarity, too.
Naturally, I chose a kooky-looking camel as a visual aid for this piece while reflecting on my long-time friendship with Wendy.
I’ll start there — with the good stuff.
The Comical and Innocent Years
One thing I miss dearly about my friendship with Wendy is our comedic connection, the kind of telepathic kinship you have with a sibling where one glance equals gut-busting laughter.
We were still in the single digits when we met. And I hate to say it, but our friendship was on founded convenience. Wendy’s family purchased a house across the street from my grandparents. Our brothers befriended one another, and soon after, Wendy and I found company and comfort in each other.
