Sadness: The Call to Adventure
by Doris Martin
The Traveler steps onto the road.
[Knock, Knock]
Traveler: Hello Sadness, May I come in for a rest? It has been such a long and treacherous journey, and I am very tired.
Sadness: Welcome Traveler, Welcome. Yes, do come in…and be nourished. There will be time to recount your tales of adventure, but for tonight, sleep safely in the arms of Sadness.
Awakening refreshed, the Traveler began her tale:
“The year was 1953, we had just moved to the high desert of Antelope Valley, CA. I was a tall, gangly, awkward and shy little girl who preferred the safety of quiet invisibility. Wendy Barnard was a brainiac with plans to attend Barnard College; articulate and unafraid to voice her well-thought-out opinions. She wore coke-bottle glasses, had gorgeous blond hair, and a morning makeup routine that would give Cleopatra a run for her money. Of course we became instant friends!
The friendship continued into high school. We had high ideas and even higher ideals, feeling quite worldly when we wrote papers about soldiers returning from war with a “monkey on their back.” My siblings never invited friends to our house because our dad would just sit glaring and disapprove of everything, and they were afraid of him. Yet I did feel safe inviting Wendy for a meal even though I believed life and meals at her home were the All-American dream. She would come over for after-school “American Bandstand” and we would dance up a storm.
We hung out at the roller rink and became big risk takers, learning to skate backwards with our eyes closed – to this day I am thankful that nobody got hurt. Not only was the roller rink a place for excitement, it was also the place for the biggest challenge to our friendship. This is where she met “The Man.” She fell hard, she fell fast, and the consequences were falling all around her. She was pregnant. They married, lived in a tiny apartment nearby so she could finish high school, and the man continued to be the man he always was. And me? For my own behavior I shall always feel shame and regret. It was all about me – I was the one who felt embarrassed and betrayed, and even broke off the friendship. A good deal of my life has been invested in learning and trying to become a better person, one who would not abandon her friend.
Wendy had four kids, a new husband/friend and start-up business by the time we reconnected, and I was going through divorce. I told her how ashamed I was for the way I treated her, and that I was so sorry not to have been there when she needed friends. She was gracious beyond words, telling me that I could not have been of help to her back then, that she needed people who had been in similar circumstances. Although our paths would widen and narrow multiple times, our friendship grew until we were as comfortable as an old pair of shoes. Her grown children would marvel at how we could talk for hours about any subject under the sun and moon. Living in Oregon by the time she became seriously ill, I was able to visit often – and we talked. Our conversations became like precious jewels to me; we talked openly about what was to come, and her wisdom and grace carried us both. To have had a friend since 7th grade is a gift. To have had a non-judgmental friend who knew the real me and still chose friendship is more like a miracle.
But alas, time is short and I must continue the journey. Sadness, you have been a most gracious host in allowing me this time to fully feel the loss and heartache of a dear friend.”
The Traveler steps onto the road.