What is True Friendship?

I grew up as a homeschool kid in New Jersey, under the wings of two very conservative Evangelical Christians. For 18 years, I had a singular primary social context for how the world worked, and how I interacted with others. The idea of a “friend” or “best friend” was not often discussed, because we were all “brothers” and “sisters” based on our relationship with God and Jesus. We were all part of a flock that supposedly believed in a few basic tenets about relational love for others. These “rules” about how to treat a sister or brother-in-Christ were often broken, in my own household growing up, and at church.

This left me confused about relationships in general. I found it hard to relate to people in college, as I strove to mimic my parents’ behaviors out of habit, and ignorance. I began to deceive my friends as my parents deceived people; I downplayed my emotions until they either became a drama volcano or a breakup. Sometimes it was both. Everyone around me in college had to deal with this, and as a result many of them don’t speak to me. I would be sad to hear what they had to say about my behavior almost 10 years ago now, but I would accept it. I was not a good friend. I did not know how to be a friend.

This decade-old quest to understand how to interact with others and how to relate to them, plagues me. It dogs the steps of every friendship I have. So lately there’s this big question on my mind.

What is a True Friendship?

From Gilgamesh the King, by Ludmila Zeman

First, I have many mythical or literary comparisons to answer this question. There are countless examples of True Friendship* in fiction. The story of Gilgamesh and Enkidu is a great example of true friends. Enkidu dies for his best friend and adventure companion, so that Gilgamesh can seek eternal life. Another favorite example of True Friendship are the March sisters in Little Women. Meg, Jo, Beth, and Amy are some of the sweetest and most honest young women I’ve ever had the pleasure to read about. They sacrifice themselves for one another daily out of real, gritty love, in a time of darkness and death.

Of course, I could go on for quite some time about great literary and mythological True Friendships. Eustace and Jill, from The Silver Chair. Sam and Frodo, or Legolas and Gimli, or Gandalf and everyone, from The Lord of the Rings. Hermione, Ron, Neville, Luna, Sirius, Remus, Tonks, the Weasley family, and countless others from the Harry Potter series. These are people who fight and die for each other. They are honest with one another, and when they are not honest they regret it. There are no hidden agendas, no unspoken feelings. These people, fictional though they may be, have given me something to aspire to. They have shown me what True Friendship really is.

Friends

Nora and I hanging out in Maine

Some of my friends have shown me what a True Friendship is. A few people have lasted decades with me, despite all of the struggle, change, grief, and joy we have both gone through. I have best friends, newly made in the last seven years, somehow glad to put up with me and I with them. A True Friendship gives me a place to stand that makes me feel true to myself. These folks make me a better person, and I hope I improve their lives, too. The freedom to be ourselves tugs at our souls, and emerges within that open bond between two people.

This also highlights the consideration of relational connections that are not True Friendships. These humans are still friendly, and I will still support them. Perhaps we are even acquaintances. I enjoy their company, and enjoy hearing their stories or following their interesting lives. When I have the emotional capacity, I try to be sincere, and kind. I try to be honest. Sometimes, they need that kind of love from me, the same way I need it from others. Other times, my friendly advances are met with a closed door. That is OK. Everyone cannot be True Friends with everyone else. That is something special.

I wonder, what is an individual’s responsibility in a friendship? I think I have more responsibility towards a True Friendship than a basic, relational connection with someone. What do you think about friendship, and friends? What has your experience been with your fellow humans?


Glossary

True Friendship – A term used to describe an intimate mutual, relational respect and candor between two creatures.

Ridiculous, curious, most likely delirious.

I love a great story, whether it comes in the form of words or visual stimuli. I believe everyone has a story to tell, and I love to share mine.

Please feel free to read along, comment, share your own stories, or send me a message via the contact page. Thanks for your time reading my words.

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Walk on The Edge of Space [Short Story]

By Corissa Haury

looking out to space
drawn by Corissa Haury

The gilded edges of the trophy felt cold and clean in Rayna’s hands. She clutched it close to her while she walked, unable to believe that she had just won it. Something about her own self-doubt usually held her back, but this time she had an object to prove her accomplishment.

“Where should we put that?” Jaren asked, at her side. They were walking back to the apartment together after the competition. The hall was clean, with a slate grey floor smooth as newly poured concrete and coated with a high gloss. The walls around them had a white, sterile clarity. It almost hurt the eyes to look around the fluorescent hall, but there was also art, posters, graffiti, and screens that flashed news headlines or ran an old comedy show.

Rayna shrugged. “Probably with all my other junk on my junk shelf.”

Jaren grinned. “Of course you will.” They both heard the sound of an old sitcom as the two of them passed. Someone had just made a joke; a laugh track played in their ears, and faded away as they continued. “You shouldn’t call it a junk shelf, it’s your souvenir shelf.” She gestured towards the end of the hallway. “Look, it’s the Moon side of the station. Let’s stop for a second.”

The women approached the end of the bright corridor, which emptied into a seemingly endless area. To the left, there were shops, apartments, escalators, people, screens of all sizes, and a large open place where hundreds of people mingled and sat around tables or on couches. Ahead, the two of them could see where the tunnel pointing towards home, continued.

“All right, but I want to get this thing back soon.” Rayna agreed. “And then I want to get some food.”

To their right, giant curved glass wrapped around the belly of the station like a belt. It stood a hundred feet high from floor to ceiling, disappearing into both. The huge panels of glass were cut off at the top and bottom by the beginning of other decks above and below.

“Wow.” Said Jaren. “It gets me every time.”

Rayna laughed. “Really? I’m so used to it by now.”

“Spoiled brat.” Jaren grinned. “It’s too bad you’ve never been to Earth. You should see some of the places there. It’s truly amazing.”

“I can’t fathom a horizon that ends.” Rayna shuddered. “I’d feel so trapped.”

“Space ends, somewhere out there.”

Rayna made a face and stuck her tongue out in disgust. “Blech, I’d hate to see that.”

They fell into silence as they approached a set of empty lounge chairs on the edge of the windows. The two of them had paused at the edge of the giant window-belt, and looked out at the moon, a few miles away in space. It was a planet unto itself.

“You can almost see the skyscrapers.” Rayna said.

“Ironic that they call them skyscrapers still.” Jaren looked out to space, to the void of sparkling stars and twinkling places they’d never been. “They should call them space-scrapers.”

“That doesn’t make any sense, Scrapers are another thing.”

“Well, that’s different.” Jaren sighed. “I do really miss Earth sometimes.”

“Don’t you have to go back for Christmas?”

“Maybe. I don’t know yet.” They fell silent again. Rayna could sense that Jaren wasn’t telling her something, but she knew better than to prod and poke. Being nosy was one of her less useful traits. She examined Jaren’s face, looking up into it and realizing that she didn’t want her to go away for Christmas.

“Well, I won’t be mad if you stayed.” Rayna smiled up at Jaren, trying to see if she could elicit a response, to distract her.

“You’re never mad when I stay.” Jaren broke out of the long stare at the Moon. “Come here.”

Rayna drew close, and the two young women wrapped their arms around one another. Rayna held the trophy in one hand and leaned her head on Jaren’s shoulder.

“Don’t go away for Christmas.” Rayna said. “Screw your parents, they’re just going to tell you how you should stay on Earth and you shouldn’t be in love with a woman.” She looked out at space and wondered how humanity could still be so self-obsessed in the face of such a beautiful, empty void.

“They just don’t know better.” Said Jaren. “They’ve never been to The ORB, or even left the Earth’s atmosphere. They refuse to leave because they’re comfortable where they are.”

They looked into each other’s faces, both people searching for meaning in the lines of their skin, in the patterns of wrinkles they both knew around their eyes, in the softness of their facial hair, in the glitter of light in their pupils.

“Well, I’m comfortable where I am.” Rayna broke the quiet and squeezed Jaren close, trying not to tear up at the idea of being apart from her for the holiday. “Please don’t go.” She looked away, back to the Moon. She knew Jaren would see pain if she continued their stare.

Jaren pulled Rayna closer, too, and squeezed back. “Don’t worry, my love.” Said Jaren. “I won’t go anywhere without you, ever again.”

Ridiculous, curious, most likely delirious.

I love a great story, whether it comes in the form of words or visual stimuli. I believe everyone has a story to tell, and I love to share mine.

Please feel free to read along, comment, share your own stories, or send me a message via the contact page. Thanks for your time reading my words.

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Stasis [short story]

Stasis

By Corissa Haury

I feel his fingers grip mine for the last time, before we plunge into dreamless hibernation. Before we crawl into the hard-coated, white shells before us. Others stand around while I hold his hands, while I kiss his lips. His soft kiss, affectionate yet powerful, holds my mouth there, as if time suspends for our kiss the way it will suspend our bodies in a few moments. Emotion floods over me under the bright lights of the laboratory. The sound of the oxygen in the shells hisses through corridors of plastic to make its way into the tank, so I can breathe in stasis. It pierces my mind and hovers on the edge of everything else I experience in this room.

It’s easy for me to be frightened, but Alex said this is the best way. I let his kiss linger on my damp mouth as he pulls away, towards a man who helps him into a strange suit. It crinkles, like a plastic bag, and I wonder if we’ll make it to the other side. The woman who will help me comes to my side, offers to assist. She can tell I feel afraid.

“Come with me.” She gestures to a small room, where I can’t see my husband. “We can have more privacy.”

“No, I don’t care about privacy. I want to stay with Alex.” I assert.

Alex looks over from the gear he adorns. He’s down to his underwear, steps into the wrinkly, loud legs of the suit. I smile at him. He smiles back. Something in my heart feels wrong. This makes me more nervous.

“87% of all cryogenically kept bodies will experience little to no change.” She says to me. “You needn’t worry.” The cold room we are in reminds me of a hospital center. I look around while I undress, wondering who in this day and age still says needn’t.

She reads too many books. I think, looking down at the goosebumps that cover my skin when I expose it to the cool laboratory air. What does ‘little to no’ mean? What percentage is that? It sounds like Internet garbage. Thoughts crowd in my mind, fight to break free of their physical prison. The time-frozen shells gleam in the bright light. The floor is white linoleum tile, sterile. There is no particular smell in the room. I smell myself a little, but I can always smell myself. Chewing gum, sage, marijuana, sweat, cigarettes, french fries… They’re all there somewhere on me, at some time. I am left remembering my father and his incessant reading. He used to say ‘needn’t’, I think. Does it come from ‘need not’?

“Legs in.” Says the girl, and I wonder at all the tubes, buttons, and beeping machines, the heart monitors, and brain activity scanners, and machines I don’t know of. Nor will I. The sound of the crinkly plastic brings me back to my own motions. Step in, pull up. 

“Please place this heart rate monitor on your chest.” She peels the back off a sticker shaped like a nipple, with two circles inside it. There are flat metal coils, Aluminum? I think, that lap one another over and over within the circles.

I take the sticker from her and stick it to my bare skin between my breasts, careful not to stick it to my bra. Ugh, my bra. I don’t want to wear that shit into the future if I don’t have to.

Do I have to wear a bra?” I ask the woman. She looks up in surprise.

“I suppose not.” She replies. “Although the material of the suit might feel scratchy on your nipples.” She says this academically, her motherly tone from before completely drained to a droll tonal quality. It’s hard for me not to giggle at her, nervous, excited, wondering. I look over at Alex. He’s ready to go, for the most part. He looks so eager, so interested to try this new thing. I wonder if he knows how frightened I am right now. Why didn’t I tell him how scared of this I am? I’m an idiot. Might feel scratchy on my nipples, huh? Fine. I’ll wear the damn bra. 

“Then I want my shirt.” I demand. “I’m not going into this thing and coming out all scratched up by a plastic bubble in a hundred years.”

The woman sighs, and turns around to get my previously discarded blue t-shirt. It feels light, gentle, cottony. I bought this a few months ago. I remember how much Alex likes it. How much he likes touching me through it, because he says it’s soft. I look back at him, and he is looking at me.

“You sure you want to wear that shirt?” He asks. “It might not be hip in the future.” He grins.

I do giggle now. This feels so absurd. I put my shirt on.

“I don’t care.” I throw back. “I want to be comfortable in my stasis.” I make a fake pouty face, push out my lower lip. Alex laughs. It feels good to relieve the tension, the waiting. Why can’t it be 100 years from now,  and we’re already laughing together under the future’s skies? I think to myself as the attendant helps me zip into my plastic suit. Everything but my face is shrouded in protective blue wrinkled material. The wrinkles run like veins all around me through the blue fabric. Once I’m inside it, it reminds me more of a tarp material than a plastic bag. Sleeping in a tarp for a hundred years… Classy.

Alex gives me one last kiss before we descend into stasis. His affectionate gesture reminds me what it means to be human, malleable to the world and to history, never ready for the change the days bring to us. I leave his warm flesh for the cold pool of liquid inside the hard white shell. My life-sustaining prison, guarded by people like the woman who just put me in here. I close my eyes as she zips the plastic bag shut, and the sleeping drugs take effect.

Who will check on us after these doctors are dead? My last thought haunts me as I drift away. I fall into darkness, hoping the next 100 years will go by quickly in my dreamless, drugged sleep.

Ridiculous, curious, most likely delirious.

I love a great story, whether it comes in the form of words or visual stimuli. I believe everyone has a story to tell, and I love to share mine.

Please feel free to read along, comment, share your own stories, or send me a message via the contact page. Thanks for your time reading my words.

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