Written by 
My best friend’s lost her shine
She’s not her own girl;
She’s Daddy’s girl, her Husband’s girl
It makes me pine.
If you told me this story last year at this time, I would never have believed it! Friends for twenty years, our families spent New Year’s together for all those years; it was a tradition. The sequence of events that led to this is surreal. Sometimes I wake up in the middle of the night and feel as if I’ve been dreaming, but then I lie there and reflect – no, it’s real and my choices made it happen. My passion won in the battle of emotion over intellect and it helps me to remember that the truth will always be the truth, even if no one wants to believe it. Or is this my rationalization for causing harm in a relationship and hurting a friend? I don’t know the answer to that question, but I will try to show how it happened.
There were many times when I bit my tongue, not something that comes easily. Sara’s husband, the king of mansplaining, routinely dumped on her in front of us over the many years of our friendship. I imagined what it was like when we were not there as a buffer. You had to make a big deal if Scott did anything around the house – something my husband and I would see as stuff that needed to get done as a team – if you were not overtly solicitous of his “contribution” he would be persnickety and overly critical. His ego constantly needed to be fed or he could be a downright bastard.
Early in our relationship I chalked it up to his profession as a high school science teacher forever in lecture mode. I’d been a teacher, too, and I had consciously tried my hardest to refrain from over- explaining everything. It would drive people crazy, especially my family, so I tried to be aware of it. Often Scott was interesting to listen to, quite knowledgeable, and I would be open to the lessons since often I learned a thing or two, but it was not give and take; it was a lecture. You would know when it was about to start because Scott would take a deep breath in through his nose – yes, the deep breath was a dead giveaway, and you knew there was much pontificating to follow. He was forever trying to teach you something and find that magical didactic moment that would forever change your life. Scott explained to you how you should raise your son when he did not have one himself. He understood so much more than the average person! You could only take so much of it! For a long time, I overlooked this because I loved Sara and enjoyed spending time with her. My husband went along for the ride since he knew how happy Sara and I were together. It was only later that he told me the truth: he had done it just for me and he found Scott to be a complete bore.
I had this image of Sara as a liberal, open minded, spiritual hippy-type – much like myself. We had this soul connection, and it was what I perceived as the foundation of our sisterhood. We went to see Gloria Steinem together; she went up to the rally in New Hampshire right after Obama had declared his run for president. She invited me, but I couldn’t go. We had this deep love and respect for Obama – we were soul sisters and sisters of the heart. Then on a visit to her house the summer before the Presidential election of 2016, everything changed.
There were shifts in her attitude. While I remained a steadfast liberal democrat, her perspective began to change. It manifested itself in some of the comments she made; I listened carefully. Because Sara’s younger daughter was having social problems and struggling academically in middle school, she thought of moving to Florida to live with her parents in their spacious new home in Vero Beach so her daughter could have a fresh start in high school. Scott would stay home with the older daughter until she finished high school. We talked about what she would do in Florida – how she would stay stimulated. I said, “There’s not a lot of culture down there from my experience, and Sara responded, “But there are country clubs.” What?! Our definitions of culture were different, and hers was wrong. Sorry. No, country clubs are not culture. I don’t think of myself as a snob or a cultural elite, but I was thinking of culture more along the lines of museums, art, music, literature, theatre, ballet, opera etc. The kind of stimulation you can find in Boston, New York City or another large city. Later we discussed the presidential election; Sara brought up Hillary’s emails and said she couldn’t vote for a liar. Soon, Scott chimed in: “A lot of people are unhappy with Obama’s failed policies, many people feel left behind, let’s go for someone who is not part of the political elite, drain the swamp, Trump is a successful business man,” yada, yada, yada… Both of them believed this: Trump started from nothing, got a good education, he’s a good businessman – wait- stop – he started from nothing? He pulled himself up by the bootstraps? What?! I asked. “His father gave him at least a million dollars to start, and he’s had many very public bankruptcies.” I knew there were powers working on Sara because she had never been keenly interested in politics. She went along with the prevailing winds of the house of her husband and father. To them, Trump was the lesser of two evils. It did not matter that Trump spoke disparagingly and with a broad brush about Mexican people or women. It didn’t matter that he trash talked everyone and was in no imaginable way presidential material.
Then things came to a head. I asked Scott, “How could you vote for a man who makes sweeping generalizations about the quality of people in Mexico?” Then, Scott went mental; he grew red in the face and I thought he was going to cry. He began ranting at me: “Do you know how hard it was for me to read your liberal posts about Obama?” “No, how could I ever know that, Scott, if you didn’t say anything to me?” If you did not like them, why didn’t you scroll past them like an adult? Scott yelled about many people being left behind – my interpretation – code for old, white men feeling as though the government was giving it all away to the minorities and leaving old whitey behind! He stormed off and pretended to busy himself with the outdoor grill.
The turning point for me was right after the inauguration of Trump which I did not watch because I could not bear it. Scott sent me a Gif on Facebook that went viral. Everyone on social media probably saw it. It was a Gif of The Trumps handing the Obamas a gift in a robin’s egg blue signature style Tiffany’s box – inside was a cake that said, “Help Me!” ostensibly written my Melania who needed help in her relationship with Trump. I did not find this funny. Sent to me by Scott on Facebook messenger, this added insult to injury in an already untenable situation. How could he think I would find this funny? He shared the FB Messenger thread with Sara who likewise found it hysterical. They were both aware of my family history and my strained relationship with my narcissistic, misogynist father. Maybe they did not listen closely or appreciate the story of my upbringing.
As I grow older, I tire of people not being called to the carpet on their hypocrisy… many of them trundle along as though all is right with the world. Sara’s famous words: there is so much love and light in the world; I have so many blessings. To hell with her version of love and light for it is doe-eyed and naïve. I learned she is more surface than substance; she plays the holy roller card with such belief … ignorance is bliss. How does something like this happen after twenty years of friendship? Well, the answer is sadly it does.