I really liked her as an individual. Warm, friendly and honest. That was all there was to her. But I did not want to be her. And that’s where the conflict began.
I could spend hours talking with her. I was the younger sister she never had. But to me, she was just a friend. Albeit a special friend, I’ll admit. But she was also everything I did not want to be. She was devoted to the man in her life in a manner I never will be. He dictated the way she kept her hair, the clothes she wore and the life she led. Rather, she allowed him to dictate it all to her. Her life was always about him. His career, his passions and his time. There was little in her life apart from him.
As for me, I couldn’t even begin thinking beyond my own self. She called me selfish. Not to my face but somewhere she was convinced that I was. I wanted to scream at her for not having/wanting a life independent of his. I never had the courage. I knew she’d disagree. She wouldn’t be as thrilled about me being on her side as she would be mad at me for pointing a finger at him.
Apart from this minor irritation, we got along just fine. We’d giggle over stupid television shows and ruminate over glossy clothing mags. I’d rely on her for hair and nail tips and she would welcome my reading suggestions.
I often wished our relationship had been a more superficial one. There wouldn’t have been as much expectation from both our ends. It would have helped our presence remain trivial in each other’s lives.