My Senior Friends: Nancy and I Hit a Wall

I’m driving down Bay Street, on my way to meet Nancy at Mayfair Mall. The traffic along Bay is heavy, and I’ve missed every light, so I’m in a rush. Just then, my iphone beeps.  I’m tempted to ignore it, but I have a feeling it’s Nancy, so I pull in to the side and check it.

“Pls pick me ep” the text says. “Dont fel like driving.”

“Oh Hell, ” I sputter, “I’m almost there, and now I have to back-track and buck traffic all the way to her condo and back.”

“ok” I text, “be a little late tho”

I swing into the parking lot at the residence 15 minutes late, and there she is, big smile on her face, leaning on a barrier, ready for an afternoon of gossip, shopping and fun.

She gives me a look as she gets into the car.

“You’re a little miffed,” she says, “Wouldn’t have asked if I thought you’d be mad.”

“Oh, I’m alright,” I say,” It’s just that I don’t feel like driving either today. Maybe next time we should come when traffic is lighter. But it’s no big deal.”

I give her a touch on her shoulder, ” Anyway, I’m so happy to see you.”

As always, we make our plans as we walk along the mall. We are both fine with this, even though, if on my own, I would know exactly where I was going, and how long I would spend there. Nancy knows this—she thinks I’m a control freak, and I admit, with a sigh, that I probably am.

“I’m in the mood to look in at Bombay,” she suggests, “I love their furniture, and wouldn’t mind picking up a small stool for my hallway.”

“And you have room for this?” I ask, thinking about her apartment, filled to the brim with furniture and keepsakes of a lifetime.

“Oh, sure, I’ll find a place. Hey, do I detect a hint of disapproval in your voice? Because if you’re still ticked about picking me up, you could just go home, and I’ll get a taxi after I’m done.”

I take a deep breath, and wave toward a group of chairs in the aisle.

“Let’s sit”, I say, “We need to talk about this. Maybe there’s more going on than a ride and a little inconvenience.”

“Well, what is it?” she fixes me with a look I have seen before. I know there is trouble ahead.

“I honestly don’t know what’s going on,” I say, taking the high road, “It’s definitely something to do with our relationship. I seem to be irritated by things that never bothered me before.”

“Well, Diane”, she says, “We’ve been in this place before, you know. Remember when we decided to give our friendship a “rest”? she says,  making quotation marks in the air. I think it was about the time I was thinking about selling up and moving—2002 I think. I remember I was upset because I could have used your help back then.”

“I was moving at the same time, if you would recall.”

“Just listen to us,” I say to myself. “Sounds like two five-year-olds arguing.”

I put my hand up in a conciliatory gesture and lean forward, holding her gaze.

“Nancy,” I say, “We have known each other for at least 50 years.”

“Yeah,” she challenges,”So what? Life is too short to hang on to something that isn’t working.”

I feel the dread rising in the pit of my stomach. My gut knows something my mind doesn’t.  I feel on the verge of tears.  I close my eyes and lean back. When I open them, I see a look of extreme sadness on Nancy’s’ face—she is feeling it too.

“Well, let’s not do anything hasty,” her voice is so low I can hardly hear her. “Let’s give this some thought.”

“I already have, Nancy,” I say. “Our relationship is too valuable to end it over a petty argument.”

“Whew!” she says, “I was hoping you would say that. So let’s just forget this conversation ever happened, and go look at some furniture at Bombay.”

“Not quite yet, Nancy.”

“What, you want to argue some more?”

“No,” I say, “But I’m not finished. I need to say something else. I’ve been wanting to talk about this for some time.”

She waits. I take a deep breath.

“Our difficulties always follow the same pattern—you demand something of me, and I resist. You say something defensive, and I do the same. You threaten to leave, and I give in. But I end up feeling resentful. It goes on and on, in a destructive spiral. It has to stop.”

“I agree, Diane. I care about you. I want to work on this. I know I’m a cranky, demanding old thing. Sometimes I take things out on you because I have no one else to vent with. And I’m getting old.”

I feel we are getting somewhere. Is Nancy actually admitting something? Is this an apology? But wait a minute. She is trying to get off the hook by claiming the age card. I should call her on that. I should  tell her this is nothing new—she has always been a cranky, demanding person. Instead, I say,

“So how do we ensure it doesn’t happen again?”

“Don’t push it,” she says.”That’s enough for now. Let’s go have some fun before the mood changes.”

I know she is right. We’ll have to leave this for another time.

“Okay,”  I get up, “Bombay, here we come!”