Miss Mary Mack, Mack, Mack

I moved a lot during my childhood. I never had friends that kept in touch, but that was mostly because I went to 9 elementary schools. I can’t remember most of my old friend's names. Even when my family moved to Utah for 6th grade, I didn't keep my friends very long. I would start with one, make another, lose the first one, love the second one, and then repeat over and over.

In middle school, I met Mary*. Mary was . . . for the lack of a better word, intense. She was extremely sexual, she pretended to know who she was and what she wanted, and she was disinterested in what people thought of her. She’d wear shirts that proudly stated “Parental advisory!” and tell me about her midnight escapades with boyfriends.

Mary changed everything for me. She let me know in the very beginning of our friendship that she liked girls, too. She called herself bisexual, and knew this was the right label for her. Even at the age of 14. She’d talk lovingly of her best friends, Ashley and Jazmin, and how gorgeous each were. She always had a crush on one or the other, but never crossed the line. They had been best friends since they were little, and she didn’t dare change that.

Her confidence in her sexuality made me question mine. I liked boys. I even had a regular girl crush on this cutie in my reading class. (He was into the Beatles and Queen. However, he was a total snob.) But I had never thought about liking girls. I knew that when I was younger, movies that had nudity in them were a turn on, but had never known that feeling as sexual exhilaration. The thought of experimenting with a girl was frightening, but I could see the benefits of a girl/girl relationship.

Just like everyone else had, I fell for Mary. She was everything I was not. Funny, charming, silly, and out there. I was the lonely book-worm, who listening to old music, and didn’t care that her hair wasn’t straight. Make-up? I had no concept of the word. Everything she did was pure poetry. I fell hard and fast.

My problem was that I actually told her. She was dating this guy named Jeremy, and he was doing the “I’m-an-older-guy-and-I-don’t-REALLY-like-you” act. She was head over heels for him. We’d sit around watching movies, and she’d tell me lovingly how he’d move in for a kiss, and then tease her by waiting, until finally smooching her. It was so romantic, but so heartbreaking. I knew that I had to tell her, because this wasn’t fair to me.

I decided to be the mature adult and tell her over Instant Messenger. (Okay, I know. Stupid. But I was young too!) She took a while to respond, and then lovingly said, “Meagan, I’m sorry. I don’t like you that way.” I was crushed! HOW COULD SHE NOT LIKE ME?! Well . . . I guess she was dating Jeremy. And she had never mentioned any feeling of lust toward me, BUT WHY?!

Whatever. I didn’t want to lose my best friend. I didn’t want to miss the D(ance)D(ance)R(evolution) competitions we had, and I didn’t want to miss baking cookies with her mom. I especially didn’t want to miss the next color she was going to dye her hair, which was going to be bubblegum pink.

So I shut my mouth. I waited. I waited. I waited. I was patient, kind, loving, caring, and overall the perfect best friend. I knew that if she was going to come around, she’d have to think of me as someone she could have feelings for and actually care about, and I was going to be that person! Or at least I hoped.

I pined over her for months and months, and then finally, she said yes. She said she’d date me. Of course, these ‘dates’ consisted of going to see a movie with a mutual friend, seeing each other at school, and asking her why she wouldn’t let me come over anymore. Then she told me she was being anti-social, but I realize now that she wanted nothing to do with me and didn’t want to hurt my feelings.

We ended up breaking up. Duh. I was hurt, wah wah wah. But I still owe it to her that she expanded my world, and that she made me think of different possibilities.

Best of all, we were still best friends.



*Names changed.