My Review:  1 of 5 stars

The title for this book is misleading. It should have been called “The Only Friend I Ever Had Treats Me Like Sh*t But I’ll Do Anything For Her Because She is My Only Friend.”  Seriously.

It’s a story we’ve seen time and time again. Two girls become close friends at a young age. As they grow older, one girl, Valerie, goes down the “popular” road while the other, Addie, binge eats and gets made fun of mercilessly.

Then, here is where Valerie’s true colors start to shine through: She tells Addie not let the teasing get to her and that she should just try harder. Um….kids spray-painted her driveway with the words, “fat whore.” Sure, just keep on smiling, Addie. Valerie ditches Addie for her cheerleader friends whenever she gets the chance, and, when she invites Addie to a big party their senior year, she admits that it’s because she knew her mom would let her go if she was with Addie.

When I discovered the tragic incident from their senior year that was alluded to for the first hundred or so pages, I couldn’t have liked Valerie less. Addie speaks up to defend her and basically becomes the laughing stock of the school because, her best friend denounced what she was saying as lies and jealousy.

All of this is told in flashback as the story jumps from present day to Addie and Valerie’s past. In the present, Addie hasn’t seen or heard from Valerie in 15 years. The night of their high school reunion, Valerie gets herself into big trouble and ends up knocking on Addie’s door asking for help.

Addie, even though she’s managed to lose a ton of weight, apparently has still not grown a backbone because the rest of the story, she lets Valerie convince her to run from the law, half rob a bank, and lead her around by the nose (all on Addie’s dime). Up until recently, Addie has lived like a friendless hermit, sustaining herself with online purchases that keep her from having to leave the house.

There’s much more to the story, tragedies galore, a hint of romance, and more cliches then you can shake a stick at. If this is what Addie, or the author, thinks best friends are made of, I feel sorry for the both of them.

I was born in Memphis, Tennessee.  I have 3 older brothers so I am not only the youngest, but the only girl.  I’ve heard the stories told many times that, while my mother loves all her boys, she really wanted a girl, too. When she was pregnant with me, I think it had pretty much been decided that, girl or not, my parents were stopping at four children.  My dad (in a life before I knew him) used to be big into deer and bird hunting.  It was something he did with his father, who died long before I was born.  Dad had a hunting trip planned with some of his buddies the day mom went into labor with me.  He called his friends later to tell them he had caught himself a doe…a two-legged one!  It was December when I was born and they brought me home on Christmas day in a big red Christmas stocking.

I wasn’t even a year old when my family moved to Texas, so I have no memories of ever living in Memphis, though we went back to visit regularly for many years.  My dad had a job opportunity that he and several of the guys he worked with in Memphis took advantage of so he moved our family to Southeast Texas.  This is where all of my childhood memories are found, starting around kindergarten.  I don’t think I have any true memories earlier than that, only stories and pictures I’ve heard and seen enough to make them feel like my own.  I do know that I loved school and was probably what you would call a teacher’s pet in kindergarten and first grade. 

In kindergarten, I remember those blowup alphabet people were the big thing.  I can’t remember what they were officially called, but I remember they were these large squarish vinyl characters and there was one for each letter of the alphabet.  It seems like each one had a trait or hobby or something that started with the corresponding letter.  Maybe there were songs for each one, too, but I’m pretty fuzzy on this memory.  I remember we had “Grandparents’ Day” and since both of my grandfathers died before I was born, and both of my grandmothers were back in Memphis, a lady from church went to school with me as my adopted grandmother.  Lila Whitford, I think.  I just remember she was a sweet lady and I had fun serving her cookies and punch.

My primary memory from first grade is that we had spelling tests each week.  One week, my teacher, Mrs Jackson, had lost her voice and so, me being the pet that I was, she had me sit at her desk while she called out the spelling words to me as best she could so I could take the test.  After I had completed it (with a perfect score, thank you very much!) I stood in front of the class and called out the words to the class so they could take the test.  Maybe I was oblivious, but I don’t recall there being any of that annoyance over the whole “teacher’s pet” situation.  I got along well with the other kids and had lots of friends.  Perhaps I was too naive to realize they were rolling their eyes at me behind my back, I don’t think so, but it doesn’t really matter now.

The summer after first grade, we moved further from town, just outside the city limits, so I would start 2nd grade at a new school in a much more rural, small town setting.  When I first started, they had me in Mrs Handy’s class, but in less than a week, they moved me to Mrs Allen’s.  There were 3 second grade classes:  Mrs Allen, Mrs Davis, and Mrs Handy.  It seems so terrible now, but we all knew, even back then, how the classes were divided.  The “smartest” students were in Mrs Allens, then it went to Davis, then Handy.  Whether they knew it or not, they had created this miniature caste system among us.  When I moved to 3rd grade, it was the same setup, just 3 different teachers.  But even then, it was a small school, we all knew each other and everyone got along for the most part.  It’s weird to me now to realize that, even at that young age, there were cliques, and of course the “popular” kids.  I like to think that even though I was popular at that time, I “played well with others.”  If I’m honest with myself, I know that isn’t 100% true.  I do remember making fun of a couple of kids.  I feel bad about that now.  The two I recall both moved away so I often wonder what happened to them and hope they are doing well.

I also remember we used to have to take the CTBS (I think that’s what it was) Test each year.  I never have figured out why, but they always took me and one other student in another room, usually the teachers’ lounge, to complete our tests.  We were both “brainy” but I still can’t figure out why they singled us out like that.  The other student, let’s call him Hebert, and I were always at each other’s throats.  We hated each other.  Or at least that’s what we called it up until at least 4th or 5th grade.  I think it was a competitive thing in one way, but perhaps partially a childhood crush of some sort.  Because isn’t that what you do to people you like at that age?  I remember Hebert actually formed a club, the [Daisy-Head] Haters club he called it.  There were several boys I remember being part of it at one time or another.  Seems like there was a girl or two at some point as well.  I think that lasted until about 5th or 6th grade…and then, when the ringleader moved away, the club fizzled.  They never really did anything but get together at recess and make faces at me.  There were words exchanged, but I don’t remember any of it really being that bad.  I wasn’t scarred or traumatized or driven to tears by it.  Funny enough, Hebert and I recently reconnected (after 20+years!) on facebook.  He seems like a likable guy and managed to hang on to his “smarts,” while I think I started to get uncomfortable with mine and “dumbing down” by junior high.  Anyway, he apologized for starting that club all those years ago, and we’ve laughed about it and moved on. 

In 2nd and 3rd grade I was in UIL Storytelling.  This was where students from all over the region would meet and compete in different categories.  For storytelling, the students were put in a room together and read a story.  Afterwards, we left the room and then were taken back in one-by-one and had to retell the story from memory.  To practice at school, the teachers would read me a short story in the hall and then I (and a couple of others who did it as well) had to go in front of the class to retell the story.  It was fun and apparently I was pretty good at it, pausing for dramatic effect, changing my voice for different characters, and remembering the tiniest of details.  I could never do that today.  I can’t remember the movie I just watched, much less be able to tell someone about it in detail!

I also remember that, when I was in 3rd grade, it was all about Michael Jackson.  We had small cassette players and my friend, SS, had copied his Thriller album (yes an actual RECORD) onto tape so we could listen to it at recess.  Oh boy.  I have to tell the whole story here.  We didn’t just listen.  There was a group of about 8 of us girls who would all gather around the tape player, with the album cover propped up (with him laying down in the white suit) next to it and just swoooon over him.  We also danced.  Every day at recess.  The full routine to Beat It and Thriller from the videos.  My family didn’t have MTV, but SS did so she recorded the videos for me.  We learned the dances and taught the other girls.  We would actually get up and PERFORM these in front of the whole school at recess.  We (thought we) were so cool.  We even had a Dance Off with the guys once…and a moonwalking contest.  I still crack up when I think about it.  It’s too bad (or is it?) there’s no videos of that.  Would be hysterical to watch at a class reunion. 

Perhaps one of the greatest memories of my elementary school days was on my first day of school in 2nd grade.  SS, who was the principal’s daughter, came up to me on the playground and said, “Hi.  I’m SS.  Will you be my friend?”  Of course I said yes, and I was, and we are still friends to this very day.  We couldn’t have been more different from each other.  She lived in the country, raised animals, was in 4-H, showed her animals at the fair.  My experience with animals was limited to dogs and cats.  She listened to country music and dreamed of owning a “duelie” truck when she was older.  I listened to alternative music and wanted a Porsche.  As we grew older, she wore Justin Ropers and Rocky Mountains.  I wore crazy tights and big chunky-heeled shoes (I still do actually!).  She was a good girl and I was the wild child.  But ever since we met that day on the playground all those years ago, we’ve been great friends. 

I think these assignments are far too broad.  Or I’m too long-winded.  It’s been far more than the suggested 45-minutes, and I haven’t even made it to middle school yet!  Ah well, stories for another day.  My hands can’t take anymore.  And I’m taking a vacation day from work tomorrow to give myself (and my hands) a rest!

To begin with, the first exercise requires that I take a moment to figure out how I really am…not the standard, “Oh I’m fine, how are you?” that comes out of my mouth every day when asked the question.  But the real, honest to goodness answer.  And then to spend some time answering WHY.  I actually have a hard time when people ask how I am because I know they don’t really want an answer other than the expected courteous response of fine, good, great, etc.  I have a hard time with the fake answer because I know I am none of those things.  I’m not fine.  I’m not good.  And I sure as hell am not great.  I’m a mess.  The WHYs?  I’ve overworked myself, thanks to my boss and her insane deadlines and expectations, to the point of mental, physical, and emotional exhaustion.  I’m sad because I know this is no way to live.  I’m frustrated because I have to pay the bills somehow.  And underneath all of that, I’m depressed because I miss my best friend, Red.  And I’m still so very pissed off at her for leaving me to deal with this shitty life all alone.

I alluded to it here when it happened, but haven’t actually written about it yet because my feelings are still all over the place.  And still so raw and hurt and overwhelmingly heartbroken and sad.  On December 1, while she was on her self-proclaimed trip of a lifetime to her dream destination in Italy, right before she was supposed to come home, my sweet friend decided to swallow a bunch of pills, some wine, and who knows what else, and end her life.  I was at the dr’s office that day, for some extreme pain I’d been having in my arms (beginnings of carpal tunnel was the guess….diagnosis was reduce my stress level and get massages).  When I left the dr’s office, I noticed I had a text message from Mr. Red.  I found that odd because he and I had not really talked at all since he and Red seperated.  My first thought, knowing that she was due to return home from her trip soon, was that maybe he was looking for someone to pick her up from the airport.  Estranged though they were, they were still civil and sharing custody of their almost-at-the-time 5 year old son.  Mr Red and Little Red had taken her to the airport to begin her trip the week of Thanksgiving.  So all I can think is that he needed me to pick her up.  So I clicked on the message to read his text…

The first few words were the worst kick to the gut I can describe:  Red just passed away in Italy.  I couldn’t comprehend what that could mean, in the split second it took to read that, my mind was trying to come up with all kinds of explanations, a car wreck, anything, and at the same time, my mind was rejecting the very idea that anything could have happened to her.  The next few lines said she killed herself by overdose and that Mr Red was at the airport heading to Italy to bring her home.  Tears were already pouring out of my eyes, but I still did not believe this could be anything but some sick joke.  I immediatley called Mr Red demanding that he take it back.  His voice was so strange, I know he was in shock.  I got to talk to him for less than a minute…he was literally boarding the plane.  He had a stop in Germany and then would be in Italy by early the next morning Central time.  I hung up the phone and screamed at the top of my lungs.  Crying.  Begging that this not be true.  It had started raining by that time.  So there I was, sitting in my car in the parking lot outside the dr’s office, screaming and howling in pain, hitting the steering wheel, hitting the seat, hitting the door, in disbelief and anguish. 

More out of instinct than any clear thought, I called my parents.  I needed to talk to someone.  I got their voicemail and left some incoherent wailing message that Red was dead.  In hindsight, not a good message to leave on someone’s answering machine.  Especially my parents who are 5 hours away.  My oldest brother, Dilbert, was in town for meetings that day and was coming back to stay at my house that evening.  So I sent him a text to see if he was at my house or still in his meetings.  I was hoping he was at my house and could come get me because I knew I couldn’t drive myself home in that state, in the rain.  He replied that he was in meeting so I said nevermind.  He must have had some sixth sense because he asked what was up.  I had to tell someone.  I had to get it out, so I responded that Red was dead.  It took me several minutes to type those three words…each letter was a dagger to my heart.  Almost immediately after hitting send, my phone rang.  Dilbert had stepped out of the meeting to call me.  I was hysterical and just kept screaming she’s dead.  she’s fucking dead.  He tried to help me calm down, figure out where I was and told me he would be at my house within about 40 minutes.  I sat in the car screaming and crying and hyperventilating for some amount of time that felt like eternity.  Finally I managed to pull it together enough to make the short drive to my house. 

I remember, I posted on her facebook page, “someone please tell me this is a sick joke.  please.”  Her aunt, who I’d never met before but heard of a few times, replied and said she was hoping the same thing.  I also had some cryptic message as my status that said something similar.  My friend, Mexigoalie, texted to ask if I was ok.  I said no, but it was not me.  It was Red.  He asked, I think as a joke, is she alive?  Again, it took an eternity to type two letters:  NO.  My mom had called by that time, trying to find out what the hell was going on.  There were so many calls and emails and text messages I can’t keep them all straight.  Other than my mom, brother, and a few friends, I didn’t want to tell anyone.  I didn’t know very much…only a few quick words from her husband.  I was convinced that he was going to arrive in Italy and find that it was all some horrible mistake.  The wrong person.  Or that she was really fine.  I just knew it.  She had to be ok.

I got a text from Mr Red in the early hours of the morning.  He was in Italy and about to go to the hospital where she was.  Next, he was there and had been given her belongings that were with her at the hospital…watch, jewlery, etc.  Letters she had left for their son.  He was waiting to see her but they were doing an autopsy.  I refused to belive it was real.  He hadn’t actually seen her yet, so there could still be some mistake.

I called him at his hotel in Italy later that night.  He had seen her.  Had held her hand.  Had told her he loved her.  She was really gone.  He was so choked up with emotion I could barely understand him.  He was there, in Italy, far from home and all alone and had just had to go identify his dead wife.  To this day, I don’t know how he did it.  He had been to her hotel to get her things there.  The mess he described in her room.  I was collapsing with grief just hearing about it.  He had to be there.  His dad was able to fly out the next day to be there and support him through this, so I was grateful for that.

It wasn’t until Mr Red got back home that I learned more details.  Apparently, she had overdosed a few days prior.  They had called Mr Red, said she’d thrown up a lot at the hotel and had her stomach pumped in the hospital.  She was pretty out of it, but they thought she was going to be ok.  He even got to talk to her on the phone briefly.  He said she slurred badly but made a joke that she guessed she was going to be in Italy a little longer than he thought.  He talked to her again briefly the next day.  I still don’t know to what degree she was conscious or even coherent.  I have so many questions, but Mr Red doesn’t want to talk about it.  But basically, he had called her aunt to see if she could come to Dallas to help take care of Red for awhile.  He was flying out to Italy to get her and bring her home.  It was the day he was catching the plane.  Literally minutes before boarding when the hospital called him back to say that she didn’t make it.  That her heart just gave out.  That she had died.  That was when I got the text from him.  He hadn’t told me anything prior to that because they thought she would be ok and he was just focused on getting her home.  That quickly, his trip had a whole different purpose.  People say it was tacky that he sent me that news in a text message.  I understand though.  He wanted to let me know but didn’t have time to talk and was about to be on an international flight.  I don’t blame him for that.

He wasn’t able to bring her body home with him.  The police had not released her yet.  There was also a big mess with sorting things out with Customs that was taking awhile.  So he came  home without her.  He was having her cremated and her ashes would be shipped to the US in a week or so.  Her family (which is another story all-together…don’t get me started) threw a fit and tried to stop that, saying they would pay to have her body shipped back, not to cremate her, but Mr Red said that was what Red wanted and he would honor that.  To hell with what her “family” wanted.  Luckily, at least they seemed to back off and accept it once they understood that’s what Red wanted (or probably more likely what it would cost to ship her body back).  That’s ugly for me to think that way, but I’ve heard next to nothing good about her family from her or anyone else so it is easy for me to think badly of them.

This is only the tip of the iceberg, but I’ve exhausted my hands (which have been almost worthless the last few weeks due to this carpal tunnel crap) and my heart enough for the time being.  I’ll write more about it tomorrow, because I know I need to get these things out.  And there is just so much that I have been hesitant to write about it because I know it could fill hundreds of pages.  I’m still constantly shifting between sadness and anger and guilt.  It’s a never-ending cycle it seems.  I keep thinking if she was here, I would kick her ass for doing this and then hug her and never let go. 

I’ve never really lost anyone I was close to before.  I mean really close to.  Not to make light of my grandmothers that I’ve lost, but that was a completely different relationship.  Red was truly the first and only REAL friend that I’ve made as an adult, since I moved to Dallas in 1998.  She was the first person I felt truly “got” me and that I “got” in return.  So much of that is in question now because I never would have even imagined she was capable of this.  There was a quote we liked that said:  Best friends, because our parents couldn’t have handled us as sisters.  That’s really how I felt about her.  She was the closest thing to a sister and I loved her as much as if she was my sister…I still do.

My Review:   4 of 5 stars
I have to admit that I was not familiar with the Bible story when I read this book. Out of curiosity, I did go look it up after I finished the book.

Diamant did a wonderful job of describing what life may have been like in those days. Though I can’t imagine having to spend time once a month, banished to a tent and squatting on straw with all the women in my family, it does make for an interesting dynamic between the women. Like having a secret club where only the select are permitted, these women shared secrets and tales that only they could fully appreciate and understand.

I was devastated for Dinah when her brothers committed their terrible crime and applauded her wrath when she faced them and her father. The story took on a completely different feel with the move to Egypt, but was still just as captivating.

A few lines at the end resonated with me and now, a day later, I still can’t shake them from my mind:

“Egypt loved the lotus because it never dies. It is the same for people who are loved. Thus can something as insignificant as a name…summon up the innumberable smiles and tears, sighs and dreams of a human life.”

Red was my partner in crime. My travel buddy. My touchstone. My sanity check. My sister at heart. The one person here that I could talk to about anything and never worry about her judging me or loving me any less. She is the person who normally helps me through hard times….and I THOUGHT I did the same for her. Then she bailed on me with this big fuck you. I’m lost without her and confused and hurt at the thought that I didn’t know her nearly as well as I thought and that I couldn’t save her from her demons. And I’m pissed at her for making me feel these things.

Just such a stupid pointless tragedy…and a precious little boy who has to grow up without ever really knowing his mother.

I’m just not ready to do that yet.  I have entirely too much anger in me right now….which turns into guilt, which turns into overwhelming sadness, which turns into anger again.

She was in Italy, on her dream vacation, as a way to cope with spending her first holiday seperated from her son.  She had been posting happy updates to facebook chronicling her adventures in Tuscany and then Florence. 

And now she’s gone??  I can’t fucking believe it.

I am in shock.  I am confused.  I am pissed.  And I am heartbroken. 

I keep hoping and praying that her husband will call me when he gets there to tell me that it was all a big misunderstanding and that she is fine.  I don’t want this to be true.

Now we’re old enough to make our own decisions and 5 years apart in age isn’t the gap it used to be.  And I decided the drive back to my former hometown for a weekend visit was worth it to find out what, if anything, I might find.  Although I’ve talked myself both sides up and down the situation, I couldn’t help but be happy to see how he still makes me laugh, and how I still have a definite attraction to him.  I thought the feeling was mutual, but now that I am back home in Dallas, I’m not so sure.  I’ve tried to imagine a future with him…sometimes I can, sometimes I can’t.  Just the fact that I’ve thought about it is scary.

He told me he knew “without a doubt we would be good together.”  But now things just feel so…silent.  Maybe I need too much reassurance, but honestly, I’d just like to know where things stand.  He says he’s very interested in seeing where this goes, but I’m not sure if his actions agree with that statement.  He works…a lot.  So I know that when he does have a couple of waking hours off, he has more on his mind than just me (if me at all).  

I don’t know.  I think I opened the door to hope and possibilities a little too quickly.  Perhaps I need to force it closed again.  Uncertainty is a bitch.

To top things off, a friend of mine from school is now an Avon rep.  Having been an Avon rep for several years when I was in college, I was curious what they had available these days, so I checked out her website.  Immediately I was reminded of why I quit selling Avon….they have entirely too much stuff for sale!  How can you be knowledgable or focus in any one area when they sell everything but the kitchen sink?!  Not to mention the fact that, most of what I earned (and then some!), I turned around and spent on personal purchases.

And now, they sell SHOES?!  Whoa.  Leave it to me to stumble upon the special offer where certain shoes were only $5 if you bought a different pair.  Shoe whore that I am, I found 4 pairs that looked really cute.  But I restrained myself…I only bought 3 pairs. 

What?  I had a gift mastercard from work that was burning a hole in my pocket.  I always loved their speed dry nail enamel, so I picked up a bottle of that, too.

While, in theory, I was buying from my competition, at least I didn’t buy anything that BeautiControl sells.  So I’m not a complete failure, right?