Once upon a time, I had a best friend.
We called each other ‘soul sisters’. After she moved out of town, we spent most nights chatting on the phone for three hours and saw each other every weekend we could. We got along like a grassfire in July.
Then I chose marriage, and she chose career.
We tried to keep in touch, but after a few years it began to feel heavily one-sided. I was the one to call and text, while she increasingly spent her days off going out and getting plastered. Everything she said about her job sounded horrifying and stressful, and she began developing a number of health problems in her mid-20s. I tried to convince her to move out of the Big City and start over in a friendlier area, but she felt too invested to follow my advice. More and more time passed between conversations, more and more texts went unanswered, and I gave up trying.
I realized the other day that I haven’t heard anything from her in two years. For all I know, she could be dead.
The dark part is, I don’t want to pick up my phone to find out what’s happened with her.
Because I’d rather not know.