“The apology” by Laura Fraser
When we were 10, my best friend Kristin Spielman and I wore identical silver rings, thinking we’d be best friends forever. We walked to school together every day, and could hardly wait to see each other again when the last bell rang. We talked endlessly about which boys we liked and which girls were stuck-up, and spent long hours working on craft projects. We were closer to each other than we were to our own sisters.
I trusted Kristin so much that I not only let her cut my hair, I believed her when she told me that extremely short, crooked bangs were the height of fashion. When I was teased at school for being chubby, Kristin reassured me, “Your real friends love you the way you are.”
Then, one afternoon when we were 12, Kristin didn’t walk home with me, and she didn’t call. I suddenly realized, like a punch in the stomach, that she and another girl were off having fun together–without me. With no explanation, Kristin just stopped being my friend. I took off my silver ring and hid it in the back of my jewelry box. I had no idea what I’d done to make Kristin stop liking me, but it made me stop liking myself.
By high school, the sting of losing Kristin as a best friend had faded, and we saw each other sometimes in group gatherings. When I left Colorado for college, I don’t even think I wished her goodbye. We weren’t that close.
And so it was a surprise, five years later, to get an invitation to Kristin’s wedding reception. But I went. Her mother was so delighted to see the two of us together again, now grown up, that she cried.
We immediately warmed up to each other, talking and teasing and full of curiosity about our different lives. She soon had a family and stayed in Colorado. I was single, pursuing a writing career in San Francisco. Whenever I came home, Kristin would pick me up at the airport and our conversation would resume right where it had left off months before. No one makes me laugh as much as she does.
“Breaking up” with Kristin in sixth grade was the only thing in my life that halfway prepared me for the day when, after only a year of marriage, my husband left me. When I could finally muster the strength to call a friend, I called Kristin. She insisted I come home immediately.
It was comforting to be with her, to hear her fierce assurance when she said I didn’t deserve what had happened. At a time when the ground had given way beneath me, her friendship felt solid.
During our visit, we took a hike in the mountains and Kristin started talking about her two girls. Her oldest daughter, Emilee, was already a teenager. “She’s like we were as kids,” Kristin said. “She has one really good friend. Hana has a lot of friends and doesn’t care as much.”
Only recently, Emilee’s best friend had abruptly broken off their relationship. “Kind of like what I did to you,” Kristin said. I looked at her, amazed. I never thought that betrayal had even registered with her.
“I’m seeing what Emilee’s going through, and how awful it is for her,” Kristin went on. “I told her to look at us–that everything turns out OK in the end, that you end up being good friends with the people you deserve.”
I looked down at my hiking boots and we kept on walking.
“Did I ever apologize to you for that?” Kristin asked.
I shook my head, finding it impossible to speak.
“Well, I’m sorry,” she said.
I wiped my eyes and gave her a hug. “You’re forgiven,” I told her. “Complete absolution.”
I knew my ex-husband would never apologize to me for breaking my heart. But it was enough, at that moment, that my best friend had.
Copyright Laura Fraser. Originally published in Women’s Day.
Laura Fraser with her best friend Kristin Rankin: