The Philosophy of Friendship

Jessica turned the photo-booth picture strip over in her hand, the last item at the bottom of her bedside drawer as she cleaned it out. She remembered the day like it was yesterday, the mall pretzels, all the clothes she and Katie had browsed through with no intention to buy, and the cheap little photo-booth where they took picture after picture, laughing the whole time. Each of the girls had a strip, the same four pictures on each one. One smiling, one hugging, and two silly ones.

How ironic, Jessica thought, all the mementos I had of the two of us, and this meaningless token affects me the most. We had been innocent then, more innocent than we thought we were. We bought matching necklaces that day, as if to announce to the world,

“We are best friends! And we always will be!”

In the moment, that idea seemed the most true, most concrete, most factual idea in the world to Jessica. Tears began to gather in her eyes. All she could hear were Katie’s words on the phone,

“You’ve changed, Jess. You’re not the person I thought you were!”

That night had been the last night they had really spoken. All these years later, Jess never knew what caused it. Katie had hardly bothered to give her a clear explanation that night, instead spending half an hour lecturing Jessica on everything she had apparently been wrong about for years. After speaking to several of their mutual friends and receiving no answers, Jess gave up on asking anyone why.

Yet, as she held the photos in her hands and tears collected in her eyes, the same question came back.

Why did you leave me? What did I do wrong? What happened to you while I wasn’t there? What happened to my best friend?

Only the crickets outside her open bedroom window, announcing the descent of nightfall, answered her. Jessica’s hands began to shake, and she crumpled up the photo strip, dropping it into the small trashcan beside her. Her breath was shaky as she curled her knees up to her chest and put her head down on them. Quieting down outside, it was as if the crickets outside could hear the young woman’s gentle sobbing.

Jess would never have said that her life was empty, or even incomplete. She had a loving family and friends, but she had never loved anyone like Katie. They had grown up together, shared their teenage struggles, and left for separate colleges in tears at the prospect of leaving one another for months. Although Jess never learned why, their friendship had not survived the first semester. Winter break came and left, without an interaction between the two. Still, through Jess’ head ran the same question.

Why? You said I changed. I don’t think I changed.

Second semester began, and Katie slipped into the back of Jess’ mind. There were grades to keep up, papers to write, a new boyfriend, and many study afternoons and coffee breaks with her classmates. Slowly, but surely, the question began to retreat, beginning to be replaced with new memories, new friends, and new love. Jess was happier than she had ever been. She loved her philosophy classes especially, thriving in the discussion-based environment, and her time was filled with laughter, weekends out, and intense conversations that lasted late into the night. Papers were assigned, and then due, and her grades were exceptional, Dr. Penn told her. Looking back, Jess would say that it had been the best four months of her life.

Seasons changed, moving from winter to spring, and with this change, memories began to resurface. Birds chirping, bees buzzing, and the soft white flowers in the trees created a nostalgic effect throughout the whole campus. As her friends began to talk of family, packing to return home, and summer plans, Jess felt a sense of uneasiness. She put off packing, shoving her clothes deeper into the dorm room dresser. She worked later nights and spent less time with everyone, polishing her final papers until they were perfect.

What is home without my best friend?

The week before move out, Jess broke down sobbing. She could barely remember it afterwards, she was so distraught, but she knew that her roommate, Stephanie, and her boyfriend, James, had been there, holding her all night. She could not have made it without them. When she got home, the first thought in her head was Steph’s words:

Healing is a process. Don’t expect to be perfect right now.

She could hear Steph’s soft, gentle laugh in her head, nudging her on and comforting her, along with James’ hands holding hers, and then him softly running his fingers through her hair in a calming, comforting gesture.

Now at home, she took a deep breath and tilted her head up towards the ceiling. The photo strip lay on the floor a few feet away from her, smiling faces crumpled, looking more like grimaces. Had she changed? Jess took a closer look at the past year. At the time, she hadn’t thought she had changed, and when Katie had accused her of doing so, her response had been instinctual:

“No, you changed!” said over the phone with the vitriol and dismay that only the betrayal of your closest companions brings. Jess got up off the floor where she sat, wiping the tears off her cheeks, and she slowly walked to the bathroom, leaving a lingering look at the crumpled photos. The girl in the bathroom mirror stared back at her: soft brown hair, teary eyes, a quivering lower lip. Had she changed? Her clothes were different—more flowy dresses, less sweatpants and hoodies than high school. She had started a regular skin care routine and had certainly put a lot more effort into her appearance, but these were all superficial changes. Had she changed as a person?

Her brown eyes looked back at her, revealing nothing. Internal changes rarely manifested on the outside, yes Jess still searched her reflection for answers. Perhaps she had changed. Her priorities had shifted in the last year. She thought about herself less, and others more, she worried less about other’s perception of her, and more about grades. Hard work was a little less daunting, but the process of finding that work was a bit scarier. Getting a job had become less heavy on her mind, and being happy, truly happy, had become her main concern.

She smiled softly, thinking back to her class on Aristotle’s Nichomachean Ethics her first semester. Aristotle might have been long dead, but when the class gathered, opening their books and sitting around the big wooden table in the old, upholstered chairs, he was more real and alive than almost anyone had been to them before. In that comfortable room, with voices going back and forth, discussing ideas of happiness, morality, and virtue, with Dr. Penn’s voice softly asking questions, while Aristotle seemed to walk among the undergraduates, Jess had fallen in love with philosophy. The ancient words of wisdom seemed more real and true than anything said to her before. For two months, her thoughts only centered upon the questions Dr. Penn posed.

What is man meant for? How ought we to live? What is virtue? Why should we be virtuous?

These ideas encompassed her, and after every class it felt as though she walked out of the classroom into a world that was brighter and more vibrant. Instead of the fearsome drudgery of tests, job applications, stress and worry, it was a world that focused on life itself and the individual actions of each moment. Aristotle’s ideas began to pervade her life. College had begun with her seeking a “useful” degree, in pursuit of wealth and success. Now, she yearned for something Dr. Penn called “the sublime,” a lofty idea of truth, virtue, goodness, and beauty. This was what life was meant to be, a pursuit of happiness through virtue, Aristotle said to her as she read, and this was what she would seek.

Yes, undoubtedly, she had changed, she realized, looking into the mirror. However, from the inside, it hadn’t felt like a change. It felt like she had been coming home to something she had always known, but now instead of drowning it out with the sounds of the world, she was finally welcoming it in to her heart. This was who she had always been and who she was always meant to be. The photo strip behind her in the bedroom called out to her,

“You changed! Why aren’t you the Jess I know, the Jess I love!”

I did change, thought Jessica. When I was who I was, how could I not change?

The photo strip answered, “I didn’t change! I’m the same!”

Yes, that’s the problem. Jess walked back into the bedroom, reaching down and unfolding the photo strip.

“We have to change, we cannot stay the same,” she said out loud. To an observer, it would have appeared that she was talking to no one in particular, but Jess’ words were clear and directed at the photos. “Only the gods cannot change, that is why they are gods,” she quoted from some forgotten school text, and then fell into her own thoughts, “so to change is to be human. I wish you had changed; I wish you could have come with me. I wish we could have sought happiness together.”

One more tear ran down Jess’ face. She picked up the book of Aristotle, and opened to Book 8, placing the photo strip in as a bookmark. Book 8, on friendship.