old friends

I was sitting with a group of people – part of an audience. Behind me sat a man that I have known since we were both two years old. He was talking to me quietly, whispering that he had kept a record of some of the things that I had said and done when I was young, that he remembered our past. I remained facing forward but listened to him, and reminded him that he was my oldest friend. I felt that he knew me.

Next, I was sitting with another group of people, again as part of an audience. Beside me sat S, one of the two identical twins who had been my friends since we were five years old. She put her hand into a packet of food, but when she removed her hand, her finger was bleeding. She started to cry, saying that I had hurt her. I was concerned and touched her hand. I noticed that her fingernails were long and red whilst mine were short and unpainted. I asked her how I had hurt her, thinking that she meant the cut on her hand. She told me that I had not listened to her. That whenever we, a group of friends, gathered together, we did not ask her about herself or her life. I felt guilty and agreed that we usually talked about the ever-changing events of the lives of the others while her life seemed so staid in comparison. She intimated that the constant changes of our lives were an indication of problems in our characters.

Later, I visited S at her house; she was preparing for a wedding to which I was not invited. We talked about how she was going to wear her hair and she showed me how she wanted it to look. I thought she looked nice but also thought that the style was very dated. I felt as though my life was very different to hers.

Later again, I was standing between rows of seats in a stadium. The man betrothed to S came to talk with me. He was tall and laughing, joking about something. I cannot recall more than this.