FINISHED
“But I didn’t invite you” I screamed as she left for the last time, pulling away up the too sharp drive leving behind only a bathing suit and the dregs of a difficult friendship.
“Well that’s over,” I thought to myself. “Good riddance to bad rubbish.” Victoria had been my best friend for two years but that July afternoon as I watched her green Explorer make its way angrily up my driveway I knew the friendship was finished. I should have felt sadness but I only felt relief. She had thrown the last monkey wrench in my gearbox. The day had begun beautifully. I looked forward to a day to myself to finish staining the deck of my “creek house” in preparation for the arrival of Jan Phillips and the other Musettes. Jan was coming to teach her first ever Marry Your Muse facilitators’ workshop at my house and I wanted everything to be perfect. Then the phone rang.
“Hi … it’s Victoria. I thought I’d come down and hang out with you today.”
“It’s not a good day, Victoria. I plan to strip and stain the decks. I am going to be busy all day.”
“I can look after myself. I just need to get out of the city today.”
“Really, Victoria. The place is a mess and this is my last day to get everything ready for the workshop.”
“I don’t know why you are doing that anyway. I’ll just come down and rest. I’ll see you in about two hours.”
“Click”
I made great progress for the next couple of hours and then she arrived. For the next three hours I worked around her. She needed to talk. She needed to eat. She needed me to eat with her. Then she needed to talk more. About herself. I felt myself getting annoyed, then irritated, and then angry. All of her selfishness and self-centeredness of the past two years washed over me. The little things I had chosen to ignore. Like the time she flirted with my friend’s husband when I brought her along to their house for dinner. Like the time she berated me for buying a microwave: “I’ve never owned a microwave. I make everything from scratch.” I had wanted to say, “Of course you do. You don’t work, d****t. Plus you eat most of your meals at my house.” But I didn’t say that. I didn’t say anything when she re-arranged my furniture or when she told me “You really need a new toilet brush in the downstairs bathroom.” All of a sudden I was pissed and I just wanted her to stop living in my life.
“Victoria, why don’t you go down to the studio and write or read or paint or something. I really need to get this job finished.”
She just tossed her perfect red hair (she’d never owned a blow dryer either) and headed down the walkway to the studio without saying another word.
I remembered then the walkway was still wet from the deck wash I had applied “Watch out for the walkway - its’s still…”
Plop…
“Ahhhhhhhh”
There she was sprawled on the walkway. I could see she was fine. Just a little messy. Her orange bathing suit was covered in glop - a combination of the bleach and deck slime.
“Victoria! Are you alright?”
She just glared at me as she made her way to her feet.
“Try not to walk where I have stained. You have bleach on your feet.”
That really made her mad.
I really didn’t care.
She stormed into the house. A few minutes later I heard her car door slam and the engine crank up.
I got to the front yard just as she was getting herself turned around to head up the steep drive.
“You’re leaving?”
“Yes. I’m leaving. I don’t know why you invited me.”
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