We were the only two in the class and so we got to chatting with our instructor, a smiley blond that reminded me of a gum-drop (don't ask why). She asked us about what we were doing and what we were studying, and it was the second time I realized how different we are, my friend and I.
"So how did you meet?" she asked us.
It was then that the full weight of it hit me: without Mandarin, we wouldn't have. We've always lived on opposite ends of campus, and would never have taken a class together otherwise.
I remember one day within the first semester we had met as I walked her to class and she talked of horror films and Marvel while I spoke of Aristotle and orchestra pieces, realizing how different we were. And so for the longest time, I assumed it was Chinese that held our paths together.
Lately, though, with a little bit of heart ache, and a huge breath of relief, I have come to the realization that isn't it at all.
This realization first came to me late one night as I walked around south provo in my pajama pants and slip on sneakers, talking on the phone with my friend. Although on the mission I often despised having someone over my shoulder almost literally 24/7, since coming home, I have found more than ever, a constant desire to talk with people, and a much more frequent (though still not constant) desire to be with them. I realize though that this can't always be reciprocated, even by those who mean me the best. And this was the subject of our discussion that night.
"If I ever need space," she said, in effect, "I'll let you know."
She paused. "Does that frighten or comfort you?"
"What, the idea of a warning?"
"Yeah."
"Both." It's true it held some comfort, except that in all honesty it wasn't frightening--it was terrifying.
"Why?" she asked, and I struggled to explain.
"Let's say the warning is A," I said at last. "And then let's say that B is the point at which you push me away forever. The point of no return, we'll call it. Well, it's comforting to have A because then I'm much less likely to reach B. But it's frightening because when I reach A, I know that B is that much closer."
We talked for a few minutes more. Me, expressing my fears, my friend subsequently coming to an understanding. At last she said the words that haven't left my mind since that night.
"You've got it all wrong," she said. "There is no B."
I wanted to believe her. It was such a beautiful thought. But as much as I tried, I couldn't.
I read on the advise board at my friend's wedding reception that there are two words which must be used with much caution in any relationship. They are always and never. And this sounded much too like an always for me to trust it.
The second part of my realization came to me later that same week. I had decided that I wanted to study in China. Well, I had almost decided. The decision rested on one thing: would my friend go with me? I called her all week with no response. Walking home from campus at the end of the week, my decision still uncertain, I realized perhaps there was a reason she hadn't answered. God knew I needed to make this decision irrespective of my friend's response. This needed to be for me. I decided I'd go.
A couple minutes later, my phone rang. It was my friend. When she told me she didn't want to go to China again--she just wanted to graduate--I was honestly heart-broken. We were on different levels of Chinese classes, and we would never go to China together. If Chinese was what held us together, we were certainly falling apart. Then came my second paradigm shift of the week. I thought about what she had said over the phone that night a week ago--there is no B--and realized Chinese did not keep us together; Chinese had brought us together. And nothing could bring us apart.
I know, that sounds a super lot like a never--or an always, depending on how you look at it. And I'll be honest always doesn't sound all that trustworthy or certain. But it is hopeful. And I have found few words so hope-filled as these: there is no B.
Candidly,
Cookie
