A letter about a friendship to someone I'll never send it to...

“Do you want to get together?” I asked, “This is my last weekend in town until January. I thought I’d try to give you your Christmas present on time this year.” I don’t mention anything about how you said you’d text me sometime this week, or about how you said we’d hang out last week. We didn’t and you never texted. I shouldn’t be surprised anymore.  

Eight hours later, you haven’t responded. I send a Facebook message letting you know I sent the text because “I never even saw it” and “I hate my phone” are your favorite excuses for not answering me. Sure, you say. But you didn’t get a present for me. Frowny face.

Of course not. *sigh* I don’t expect one, I tell you. It's true: you haven't gotten me one in years. It used to be a tradition. Doesn't matter, I tell myself. We set a time and a place—my place, your time. Because I already know that if it’s my time, you’ll be late and if it’s your place, I’ll spend the whole time playing with your cats while you surf the internet. Did you ever notice that when you come over to my place I close my computer and put it away? That’s because I value the face time with you. So I do things to make you feel comfortable and to be a good hostess and to show you that you matter to me.

I dragged my ass out of bed early and turned the heat way up because you like it warmer than I do. Then I went shopping in the middle of the day when it was really crowded so I’d have snacks you like, I cleaned the kitchen and the bathroom, I downed several painkillers to get rid of a nagging headache and had some caffeine so I could stay up and be personable for as long as you were here. I didn’t go to the online fellowships this morning because I needed the time to get everything ready—this is a once a month affair, I don’t want to screw it up. I even cleaned out the front seat of my car in case I would be the one driving us to the restaurant for dinner.

All of that only for you to call and say “I guess it looks like we’re going to be really busy today... how about Tuesday?”

At first I said fine but my heart was burning and I felt sick. No, scratch that. It’s not fine. Why can’t you tell them that you already had plans? Why am I lowest on the chain of priority? When did I get demoted to acquaintance?

You don’t think I notice and I don’t mention it (because it feels pathetic that I even look, what are we, lovers?), but I saw on Facebook—how someone else from your exclusive little circle posted about spending last weekend with you and the others, baking cookies. Is that why you didn’t text? Is that why we didn’t hang out? Why couldn’t you just tell me that? Why didn’t I get invited to the cookie baking party? I feel like a five year old for even asking and I don’t like that feeling.

I need to stop listening to what you say and listen to your actions. Your actions tell me you don’t want to be anything more than acquaintances… so from now on, we aren’t.

From now on, I’ll ask if you want to go to dinner, but not if you want to come over. I'll say things like, “Let me know by this time so I can make plans”, and if you don’t let me know, I won’t make plans. From now on when you cancel on me, I won’t reschedule or smile at your excuses. I’ll tell you plainly and honestly that it disappoints me and I’ll wait for you to make amends before pledging any more of my time, I'll wait for you to give something of yourself in return for what I give you of myself. That’s cordial, I think. If we can’t handle that, I’ll just count you as lost and move on.

Friendship is as friendship does—it is the harmony of two voices. I can’t sing our song by myself.