Unrequited… Friendship?

Jump to Comments

Why am I sitting here with an untouched lukewarm coffee? Let me tell you a story.

I decided to make contact with the bus stop lady that I see each morning.

My first attempt was hindered. As I drove up I saw that my bus stop lady had been joined by another woman. They weren’t speaking, in fact, they were turned away from each other - strangers. But I thought, I can’t walk up and offer a drink to my bus stop lady and leave the new one out. I’ll have to wait until tomorrow.

The next day I pulled into the coffee shop on the corner where she waits. Actually, it’s not so much of a “coffee shop” in the hip sense. It’s more of a run down house converted into a homestyle breakfast counter. A group of local men in flannel shirts and overalls stood around on the front porch smoking and talking about the weather. I noticed only jingle bells and an “OPEN” sign on the front door of the little restaurant.

“Excuse me,” I said, tapping one of the men on his elbow.
The man towered over me. He turned and looked down at me, saying nothing.
“Do you know, do they take debit cards? I don’t see the little visa symbol thingy…” I said gesturing to the door, my voice trailing off as I looked back up at him. There was just a hint of amusement under his gruff expression.

“Nooooo, ma’am.”

He answered in such a way that made my question seem utterly ridiculous. I might as well have asked if they accepted pesos or conch shells for the way he and his friends looked at me. I mumbled a sheepish “Thank you” and high tailed it back to my car so I wouldn’t hear them laugh at me.

This morning I remembered to snatch $2 cash from my 6 year old son’s wallet as we left for school. (I’ll pay him back later. Really, I will.) I dropped the kids off at school and felt my heart beating in my chest as I pulled into the little coffee shop parking lot.

The bus stop lady was there and she was alone. I had cash in my pocket. Today was the day.

I went inside and ordered a coffee. The older woman behind the counter called me “darling” and “honey”, as she took my money and gave me change. The coffee was black and so I grabbed a few packets of sugar and a red stirrer. As a second thought I snatched some napkins, too. My hands were full and so I pushed the door open with my arm and walked down to the corner where the bus stop lady stood with her back to me.

I stopped a few feet behind her. She didn’t turn around. I cleared my throat. She did not move.

“Excuse me?”

She turned and looked at me. Seeing her close up face to face, I realized that she’s not Hispanic. In fact, I have no idea what heritage she might be. When she spoke it became apparent that she was first and foremost an American. Her English was casual and unaccented. I sought eye contact, to make a connection, and found that she was guarded and uncomfortable.

“Um, I drive by every day and see you standing here. I just thought I’d like to buy you a coffee.”
I held out my hands which were filled with coffee, sugar packets, stirrer, and napkins. I felt childish, like a little kid offering a messy piece of artwork to their mother.

“Oh. I don’t drink coffee. Thanks anyway.” She turned her back to me once again, looking off in the distance, waiting for the bus.

I stood there for a second with everything in my hands feeling incredibly foolish. I forced a cheerful tone, “Oh, OK! Um… OK!”

I turned and hurried back to my car. I put the coffee into the cup holder and tossed everything else on the passenger seat. I couldn’t start the car and get out of there soon enough.

As I drove home I went through a range of emotions. Some of my thoughts were, “What in the world just happened? What did I do wrong? I knew I should have gotten a different drink! … Well, at least I tried. Her loss. Why was she so mean? Am I taking this too personally? Why did I bother? Will she go home tonight and tell her husband about the weird little Caucasian woman who tried to give her coffee? Should I try again with a different drink or is that creepy?”

I wondered why making friends as adults is so complicated. In Elementary school there was this girl named Lina. I didn’t know her but for some reason, I knew she would make a good friend. I approached her at the school store one day in 5th grade.

The school store was a little classroom that was open early in the morning before the bell rang. You could buy pencils and other supplies. I was always there buying decorative erasers for my collection. I had erasers shaped like bunnies, and horses. I had ones that smelled like strawberries and vanilla ice cream. I loved my eraser collection.

That morning at the school store, Lina picked through the box of erasers next to me.
“Hi.” I said.
She smiled. “Hi.”
“Do you collect erasers, too?”
“Yes. I love them!”
“Maybe we could show each other our collections sometime and trade.”
“That would be fun.”

And like that, our friendship was sealed. She gave me her address and after school I rode my bike to her house. We traded erasers and were friends through the New Kids on the Block craze and more.

Now as an adult, I find it isn’t so easy. My friends, besides my husband, sisters and my Mom, are spread all over the world, and most are in fact people I’ve never met. The friendship is no less “real”, but there is something to be said for a friend who can actually hug you instead of sending {hugs} via E-mail.

I can’t even tell my husband Carlos about what happened this morning. He’ll listen to this long depressing story and then offer what he thinks is prophetic wisdom. He will say, “See? This is why I don’t try to make friends.”

And so here I am. With 1 room temperature coffee and 0 new friends.

“People are strange, when you’re a stranger
Faces look ugly when you’re alone
Women seem wicked, when you’re unwanted
Streets are uneven, when you’re down.”
- Jim Morrison

14 Comments

Filed under About me, depression, humor, nostalgia, rant