by Theresa Corbley Siller
While waiting in the restaurant booth for her lifelong friend, Joslyn whipped out her little mirror. Her hair was salon-highlighted and straightened nicely. She had applied her eyeshadow in a stylish way and penciled in her eyebrows adequately. She had just used whitestrips that morning, so her teeth (with the chip recently fixed), should pass muster. Check, check, check.
She tucked her mirror away. She had spritzed her favorite scent, White Diamonds, and felt confident showcasing the fuchsia A-line dress she picked out for brunch. And yes, the caramel sandals were name brand. Her childhood friend, Lindsey, was impressed by such things, and Joslyn felt compelled to present herself accordingly.
“Why do you spend so much time and effort getting ready to see Lindsey?” Joslyn’s husband had wanted to know.
“I don’t.”
He had lifted his brows.
Joslyn thought of a magazine article recently, about authenticity and living wholeheartedly, by Brene Brown. Brene had stressed that the only people to tell our story to, are the ones who have earned the right to hear it. Joslyn was looking forward to telling her story with Lindsey today.
Her mouth watered for her meal at Carbs-R-Us. Their coffee was the brew of the gods. The place also boasted melt-in-your-mouth, aromatic sourdough toast, to accompany their world class pancakes and home fries. Lindsey deserved the best.
Joslyn and Lindsey had met as nine-year-olds in fourth grade, putting cat stickers on their desks and personifying them. Each day the felines “wrote” notes to one another. The girls were the epitome of BFFs. Sharing the annoyances of periods and adolescent crushes, SATs, college and the labyrinth of marriage, it seemed the friendship had glorious longevity.
Joslyn had always believed that Lindsey was her safe person, like Brene Brown mentions in her book, Wholehearted Living. Through the years, Joslyn had shared everything, and showed deep vulnerability with Lindsey.
They sat in a secluded booth. Joslyn couldn’t wait to connect.
“I love your dress, but you really need to wear a jean jacket with it,” Lindsey admonished, before she even sat down.
“Oh. Didn’t think of that.”
“Coffee, ladies?” Joslyn had told the waitress about their special reunion, and she smiled at the two dear friends.
“I’d better have decaf, thank you,” said Lindsey. “Gotta watch my caffeine.”
Lindsey then turned to her friend. “Jossie, you really should part your hair further to the side.” Her hands reached all the way across the table, shifting Joslyn’s hair way to the left. Lindsey angled her head to assess her handiwork. “Yes, that’s the look you should have, honey; it’s more stylish.”
Shaking it out of her eyes, Joslyn murmured, “Um, o-kay.” Then, attempting to change the subject, “So tell me, Lindsey, how are Bailey and Austin? Love your kids. How’s Dave?”
“We’ll get to my family in a minute. You know, Jos, you might want to get your mustache hair removed, instead of just bleaching it. I know of a good place I’ve used.”
“Yea, I may do that some time, Linds…but I want to know how it’s going with you.”
“No, seriously,” Lindsey pulled up the salon’s details on her phone. “You could make an appointment now, for right after we eat.”
Joslyn felt the irritation creep up into her temples where a headache sprouted. The upbeat atmosphere was quickly plummeting. She was feeling what Brene Brown has researched for years: shame.
Temporarily distracted from her cosmetic directives, Lindsey pulled out her home-management binder, boasting different colored tabs for each category. “Here’s what I did this year. You could get better organized for your husband, daughters and your household, like this.”
Joslyn was impressed, but realized that Lindsey had the luxury of time-to make things that perfect. Joslyn’s enduring best friend was the consummate homemaker.
As a mom of three, caregiver of a blind mother, and a full-time employee outside the home, Joslyn was more often just limping through her days. Her husband had all he could stand, with a difficult supervisor and weekends spent constantly repairing the family’s clunker cars. Joslyn tried to at least keep groceries around and the place clean enough not to be a biohazard. Quite often the kitty litter went unchanged, as it made her daughters gag. Joslyn didn’t have the heart to make them keep that chore. A home-management binder? Never gonna happen in Joslyn’s house.
This meeting with her BFF was beginning to lose its pleasure, kind of like a joyful beach trip ending with severe sunburn and sand-chafing.
“So Lindsey-“
“Let’s do some selfies,” Lindsey interrupted.
Joslyn preferred far-away shots, because Lindsey, quite frankly, had aged better! Lindsey began snapping away, getting closer and closer.
“Please don’t get them too close, OK?” Joslyn pleaded. She felt her smile become forced, wrinkling her forehead even more.
“Oh, you look great. Nothing to worry about.” Easy for Lindsey to say, her face still unlined and baby-soft like a teenager’s. The injustice mocked Joslyn.
There the friends were, posted on Facebook that evening. But only one of them looked beautiful.
Later on that week, Joslyn got a call from Lindsey. “Did you ever get your mustache removed with laser, as I suggested?”
“Actually, I didn’t. I got a lot of extra subbing jobs, Mom had Retinologist appointments, and Ashlynn and Julianne got braces…”
“Aw, you should’ve done it. It truly will look a lot better. Trust me. Loved seeing you. We should make plans for next month,” Joslyn could hear the whoosh of Lindsey pulling her color-coded calendar out.
Joslyn paused and thought about who was in her tribe, and if those people were serving her anymore. She thought of Brene Brown’s powerful talks and shame research. Maybe Joslyn’s husband was right. She was trying too hard for Lindsey. Despite the decades of togetherness, maybe Lindsey was not a safe, unconditionally loving friend after all.
All at once it missiled into Joslyn’s mind, the saying, “Those who judge, never understand, and those who understand, never judge.”
She took a deep breath. “You know Lindsey, I’ve got some big projects to finish up, and it’ll be months before I have any free time. Hugs to your family…”
Author Theresa Corbley Siller 