My
Friend, the Extreme
My best
friend lived in the Port Authority in New York City for a short time
At
least that’s what she said.
Every
couple of days I get a new voice mail-
“I’m
losing weight”
“I’ve
been sick”
“Did I
ever have a baby and give it up?”
“I
think I have a brain tumor”
“Good
news – no tumor, just a sinus infection”
And on
and on and on…
I love
her, she’s a good person, and I wish her well
but I
think she’s got the corner on crazy.
Between
hospital stays and pets at death’s door
I’ve
had to stand back and detach a little.
I’ve
told her that I hate being on the phone and that I will write to her.
And I
do, once a month, to let her know what I’m up to.
And she
can call and leave a message, because she’s not a writer.
But if
I get on the phone with her
The
silences, where I want to tell her she needs help,
that
she’s a hypochondriac,
that
her past is so messed up in her head, are hard to deal with.
I want
so badly for her to end the call but I have to be the one.
Every.
Single .
Time.
I
remain in touch with her after years of silence
Because
I know she needs a friend, and I do too.
It’s
just that sometimes, she’s just too much.
And
most times, for her, I’m not enough.
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