“It is hard to remember tender things tenderly.”
–Karen Green
As cheesy as it sounds, the greatest gift someone has given me is their irrevocable love. I’ve undeniably received this from my dear friend of 10 years, Lauryn. In the midst of my darkest time during my teens, Lauryn gave me the sun. I was at the peak of my grief, convinced I would never find a friendship like the one I had with my best friend who had passed the year before. Nothing could replace Roger, nothing ever could. But one day, I made an internet friend who also went to my high school. We connected through words first, reading each others’ sad, angsty tumblr posts. After months of bumping into each other in the school hallway, we finally began spending time together.
We were both teenagers in turmoil, navigating heartbreak and first loves. We were very different characters, Lauryn being the more grounded, mature one and I, simply manic and lost. I am older than her by just a year or two, but she taught me much about how to grow up. I started partying and experimenting with unhealthy coping mechanisms, while she watched me crumble, trying to keep the pieces together. I was selfish with my affection, and in retrospect, I didn’t have the capacity to love her the way I should have. She was the sweetest thing in my life, and she deserved me at my best.
I have kept the memory of Lauryn holding my hand while I cried outside of a library. A rare tenderness that I remember dearly. I was experiencing a heartbreak I had never known before, and she just held my hand. A simple gesture that I desperately needed at the time. A gesture that told me I wasn’t alone, that I had someone I could rely on for life. We are still friends to this day, across the country but still connected by the invisible string. This is a rare gift I get to carry around with me. She has “remember tender things tenderly” tattooed on her ribs, and it is a signifier of the delicate imprint she has on me.
Lauryn and I are not the girls we were when we first met, having our own separate experiences of companionship. We are women with our own lives now, but we stay connected in the music we share, the books we read, the old memories of girlhood. We’ve woven in and out of each others’ lives through our twenties, eventually finding our way back to each other. This time apart gave us a chance to grow into ourselves and figure out a way to love each other better. Now, we can just water what we planted when we were girls. We’ve made it this far, I will keep carrying her with me.
nina writes 
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