sara

I've been feeling this heaviness in my heart lately. It generally comes when I'm missing something I know I'll never really have in the same way again. It's almost impossible to articulate, but this is important. I'm going to do my best.

At a first glance, I could see how that might look like some bedroom--small, lacking in a definitive color scheme, obviously shared. I had no idea at the time that I would come to miss this little room so, so much.

When I first moved into my freshman dorm, I shared it with someone who was sort of mismatched to me. She ended up moving out midyear, leaving me with an unheard-of half a semester with a room entirely to myself. The RA explained that they'd pick a new roommate for me, which didn't appeal at all given that the first one hadn't worked out very well. When this was taking place, I was in the middle of a fight with my friend, Sara. As I recall, it was over a boy, but all I really know for sure is that we were on the kind of terms where you pretend not to notice each other at social gatherings. Remember, we were in the middle of not speaking to each other, because it's important.

I found out that I essentially had until December to choose my own roommate. Promptly, I texted Sara and asked her to meet up with me. This was years ago, so I haven't got direct quotes handy, but the conversation essentially went something like this:

Me: I know we're fighting, but I need you to come and live with me so I don't end up with someone I spend all my time fighting with.
Sara: Sound logic. Let's do it.

We signed her over to my room and I helped her cart all her things from the second floor up to the fourth. The decor significantly improved and my life changed forever.

I like to describe all of my best and most worthwhile relationships as the kind where we're on opposite extremes and gradually meet in the middle. When I met Sara, I was overwhelmed by her louder demeanor and take-charge attitude. She was equally underwhelmed with my comfortable status in life as a people-pleasing doormat. During our time together, she taught me how to assert myself more, which came into play immensely when I found myself in a compromising position with abuse. I don't know what I taught her, but I can only guess it was a few obscure new vocabulary words and maybe some appreciation for Spanish music. Jesus, writing this is making me miss her so badly, because she was easily one of the best influences in my life. I think of our time together as these brief flashes of wonderful feelings. I'll let you on in something that might sound strange--I suffer from anxiety. It's gotten better over time, but when I really can't shake it, I think about some of these things to calm myself down. For example...

We used to rearrange our rooms together for fun, and one of our "just-for-us" hobbies was browsing the bargain aisles of home decor stores to find crazy new additions for our walls and desks. None of our bedding ever matched--actually, our sophomore year, that was sort of the point. We both bought the loudest, most colorful things we could, including plastic pink flamingos and cardboard models of Big Ben and the Eiffel Tower and just had a blast with it. To this day, I remember some of those wild posters she used to hang up. I have no idea where she got half of those.

Oh, and quiet afternoons. We'd pop the window open to enjoy the light and breeze. Half the time, we weren't even directly interacting--the TV would be on a Disney movie or something, and I'd be laying on my bed enjoying her company while she asked me questions about whatever was on her mind.

She used to talk to me at night, too. It's like she had some sixth sense for when I was right about to fall asleep. My eyes would close and then--"hey, Katie, did you ever think about what it'd be like if you had to live underwater? Do you think it'd really be that different from living on land?" The most arbitrary questions would come out of her mouth, but I truly never minded. Having someone to talk to was the greatest.

She hated that haircut on me, by the way. She told me in a Dillard's once that it looked like a pumpkin and the saleslady got kind of offended for me. Sara maintained that her feelings remained unchanged. (It was a really bad time in my life for hair, to be fair.) I could always count on her honesty, which, while it wasn't always what I immediately wanted to hear, usually ended up being good in the long run.

Don't get me wrong, we went through some painfully rough times. They just never lasted, and I guess in some way I knew they wouldn't, so they never worried me too badly. It's never fun to fight with people, but there was never this feeling like we'd ever end up wandering too far from each other. There was one other point in time where we went a bit without speaking. She showed up at my friend's New Year's party with my favorite Starbucks drink and we spent the rest of the night upstairs by ourselves talking like nothing had happened. She was always more important than the few problems we had, I guess, which I haven't been able to say about that many people. That same night, she followed me to my car to make sure the boy who was trying to talk to me knew she didn't like him one single bit.

That's the best, too--she saw me through some seriously fucking story-worthy relationships and she kept me from getting completely demolished by them. I do believe she would have been a formidable force had any of these people attempted to do any real lasting damage. She had my back, for lack of better word. If she didn't like someone, I heard about it. If I was making the wrong decision (spoiler alert: young Katie did this all the time), I heard about it whether or not it made me happy. Her honesty is something I valued, because I didn't have a lot of it in my life at the time. We've both outlived all of each others' college relationships but two--our current ones. I maintain that I wouldn't even be in this one if not for her teaching me to value myself and communicate better.

 What else? Oh, my style changed because of her. She used to make faces at my clothes and ask why I always bought them a size big. It's because I was self-conscious, which I tried to explain, but she wasn't really having it. She was sort of ahead of our time in terms of body confidence, and I think she did her best to snap me into it. By sophomore year's end, she had me wearing clothing in the correct size and trying out skirts for the first time in my life. Anyone who knows me now knows that I don't leave the house in pants unless I'm absolutely out of other options. I can thank Sara for that, because now I think I own exactly two pairs.

We took my first out-of-state drive to Disneyland together and had the time of our lives on spring break. Our shared enthusiasm for the entire enterprise made it an experience I'll never forget. (We met so many characters, you guys.)

Almost everything I enjoy now is sort of tinged with shades of people I hold close to me. Everything from Starbucks drinks to leopard prints to the phrase "to be fair" makes me think of Sara at least a little bit, which is hard when we're states apart. To my knowledge, she's pretty happy and doing well, and we talk as often as we can. It's not the same, though--it won't ever be like living together in Flagstaff again. Most days, I can accept it. Other days, it sits deep inside my soul and refuses to move. I miss my friend. I credit her for a lot of positive changes in my life, and sometimes I wish I could have those moments back for just a little bit.

Sara: for all of the mishaps with hair dye, brutal honesty, matching yellow dresses, garish pink flamingos, Disney movies, milkshakes, magazines, arguments, shared anthropology courses and days in the printing room, thank you. These periods of time where I'm missing a piece of myself are good, because it means you were so important to me that I notice when you're gone. I wouldn't feel this sad if I hadn't been truly happy.

That, I think, is how I make peace with it. Tonight, I miss that little room. I probably always will. It won't ever be my home again, but thankfully, I kept the most important thing in it. As long as I can call Sara my best friend, I think I can live with the missing.