Forty years later my friend remains true to form

While in my early twenties I started a job with an engineering company in the small city (population 12,000 at that time) where I had finished stints as a US Census enumerator and as a newspaper reporter.

This lovely burg, the high desert, temperate weather, mountains with an extensive trail network, small-town friendliness, and a great used bookstore hit all the high points of my ideal place to live.

But I did not grow up there. I was not a townie. I did not play softball. I formed some friendships with other hikers, and of course, with co-workers. I’m a bit socially awkward, although not an introvert. I joined the tennis club and played on a tennis league. I took a course in auto mechanics. Still, I had the feeling people were all out having raucous fun on Friday nights while I read Tony Hillerman mysteries, enjoyable as that was.

Then the executive admin at work put the word out that she was seeking a housemate.

Diane was boisterous and fun-loving and was an over-the-top extrovert seemingly full of confidence and bonhomie. Best of all, she was at most two degrees of separation from everyone in town. She had a prodigious green thumb. She owned the coolest record collection. She subscribed to Rolling Stone magazine, as did I.

I moved in. It was fun. She threw herself an epic thirtieth birthday party, hiring the best bar band in town who played classic covers all night long. She and I had a blast making rumaki the day before. Everyone from work was there. Also lots of people I wanted to know: hairdressers, bikers, community theatre actors, cowboys, softball players, car enthusiasts, the owner of an office supply store, dog trainers, dental hygienists, birders, mechanics, systems analysts, roofers.

I felt as if I were reliving my college days, but this time living in the chillest off-campus party house. Shaking off the straight-laced persona and learning to let my hair down, relaxing, and enjoying. Infusing my life with some spontaneity. And I think I was a good housemate: kept the kitchen clean and kept up with housework, shuttled her around when her car was out of commission, was quiet and courteous.

Diane had several income streams. In addition to her day job, she boarded cats in a purpose-built addition to her house. I enjoyed helping her with the cat boarders. She also had, shall we say, a cash-only business selling a recreational drug. I was not bothered by the latter, as even in those days, I was aware of the medicinal — and other — benefits. When Diane suffered a cat scratch in the eye, causing her eye to swell up to golf-ball proportions, the town ophthalmologist quietly suggested she self-medicate to relieve pressure within her eye.

She wanted to try out a new Italian place, and, thinking that this would be another checkmark on my coolness ticket, I agreed, although I was eating lightly in preparation for a tennis tournament. Diane ordered appetizers, meal, wine, dessert, coffee. I opted for lighter fare. When the check arrived, she announced she had no money. I was surprised, but agreeable to helping her out in a lean week.

About a month later, I arrived home to find the water cut off. Realizing her blithe attitude toward paying monthly bills, I offered several times to pay utilities; she always declined. I had no idea when she was in arrears. The bills never made an appearance in the house.

After several such incidents over the course of a few months, I found another place, and soon afterward, another job. No hard feelings, but Diane and I drifted apart. Her life trajectory always seemed to be careening toward tragedy. Later, she became a single mother of twins. I bumped into her in a supermarket with the 18-month-old twins in the cart. Both her parents died. Diane cared for her mother in her declining months.

Time moves on. I moved to a different state. Transitioned to a different career. Took a few adventures. Got involved in several organizations. Became an avid cyclist. Evolved into a more serious person.

Many years later, we reconnected via social media. I looked forward to enjoying her insight and droll take on events. I was excited about catching up. We found we had both reconnected with another former coworker who lived close to me. Diane’s life had indeed taken some sad turns, death of several loved ones, including a terrible loss of someone she loved at way too young an age, selling her house to care for her mother. She had worked as a substance abuse counselor, and she still had good office skills and an outgoing personality.

Diane was now of Social Security age with regular monthly income. But she seemed to think frivolous lawsuits were to be her ticket to a more comfortable life. I listened quietly and nonjudgmentally.

I could not shake the feeling that she was playing me. And she was. Diane needed $200 “just to get through the end of the month.” My initial thought was of course to help her out, but then, no. I thought of her lifetime of financial mismanagement, the estranged brother who finally grew weary of requests for help (although I infer they reconciled later in life), the manipulation, the cavalier attitude to utility bills, her leveraging of me as a cash resource. I had thought we were past that.

After a long pause, I offered some suggestions: sell some of her myriad of small plants at the farmers market, register with a staffing agency, become a caregiver, use her formidable connections to find at least a part-time gig, deliver newspapers. I asked if she had hit up our mutual friend. But, as kindly as I could, I declined to help her out financially. A confidant said, only half-jokingly, that I might just be one of many in a rotation.

Her response was an unpleasant Facebook message and a termination of our revived friendship. I am sad and still working to find the kernel of a lesson in this. I became a freer spirit, for a few months, anyways. I met people with different perspectives on life. Still, I was bereft that my true feelings of friendship were not reciprocated. Somewhat betrayed that she viewed our friendship as merely transactional. And sad that the life of a person with such joie de vivre had devolved into such desperation.

The name has been changed in case anyone at that epic birthday party more that three decades ago reads this.