Yin and Yang

YIN AND YANG

“I don’t understand how you two are still friends.” Jason said, then paused. “Or why.”

I shrugged my shoulders. “I don’t know,” I said. “We’ve been friends since middle school. She’s always just been my friend.”

Jason shook his head. “Sure, you’ve known her forever, Nina, but that doesn’t mean that you still have to be friends. She treats you like trash.”

I looked at my husband. It was the same every time I’d tell him about Talia. And I knew that it was my own fault. I’d spend some time with Talia, and then I’d come home and tell Jason about something she’d said or done. I should have known by now that he was not the person to talk to when it came to Talia. He, rightfully, believed that Talia treated me horribly—something no other person on Earth would be allowed to do—and I let her do it. I was a grown woman who still let a childhood friend disrespect her.

Most recently, she and I had been sitting in her kitchen drinking tea, talking. She’d mentioned that she’d changed therapists. I asked the new therapist’s name—you know, just so that I would know who they were when she started complaining about them, which was par for the course. And she snapped on me.

“Why do you want my therapist’s name?” she’d demanded, her eyes narrowing.

I was surprised and taken aback. “Uh, because you always tell me your therapist’s name.” I shrugged my shoulders, trying to remain calm. “Just so that I know who you’re talking about.”

“Do you want to know his name so that you two can get together and talk about me?”

Okay, at that point I was also alarmed. “Talia, I would never talk to another therapist about a patient. Or a friend. I was just interested because you mentioned him. I’m interested in your life.”

She’d folded her arms across her chest. “Oh, really? And I’m supposed to believe you? I bet you can’t wait to talk to my therapist and tell him what a crazy bitch I am.”

At that moment she was acting like said “crazy bitch,” but I refrained. Therapists shouldn’t call their patients or friends crazy. I took a deep breath. “If you don’t want to tell me your therapist’s name, fine. Don’t. You’re the one who brought it up, not me.” I stood up and looked at her. “I gotta go.” And I left.

When I told Jason about Talia’s weird outburst, he hadn’t actually commiserated with me.

“It’s your own fault,” he’d said. “You let her treat you like crap. And you never call her on it.”

Thanks for all the support, sweetie, I thought.

He continued. “You know she’s toxic. And she’s not a good friend,” he’d said. “Yet you let her behave like a spoiled brat. She’s an adult. Both of you should know better.” He looked at me. “Especially you—you’re a therapist. She’s not worth the drama.”

That was Jason’s default recently, every time I mentioned Talia—drop her as a friend.

On paper, our orbits should never have crossed. Talia was from money—lots and lots of money. Her mom had invented some sort of widget that revolutionized some sort of production, and now the family had more money than God. Talia once told me that they had so much money that they wouldn’t be able to spend it in ten lifetimes. Hence her life of unearned privilege—her term, not mine. She had access to anything and everything that she needed or wanted. Lots and lots of therapy.. And spa treatments. And plastic surgery. And detox. And rehab. She had homes on three continents—homes that were outright her own, even though she’d never had a job in her life. She had a fleet of the newest cars. She had access to private jets and yachts. She had maids and chefs, and personal trainers, and her own yoga instructor on retainer.. She had it all. Except happiness.

My parents had scraped together the money to finance my education at a local private school. I’d been a gifted student, and had a full academic scholarship, but my parents still needed to foot the bill for textbooks, my uniform, school trips, and extracurricular activities. But, they believed that it was worth the investment. That was where I met Talia, in grade six. Our school wasn’t the best, but it was very well-regarded, academically. Talia was there because she’d been “unenrolled” in two other more prestigious private schools due to her behaviour. I don’t know the details, but one involved a fire, and the other involved an involuntary haircut for a rival. If she didn’t make it work, she was headed to private boarding school in England.

We became friends almost by default. I was the brainy poor kid and Thalia was the rich outcast. We seemed to balance each other out. She showed me how to have fun doing things that didn’t involve a textbook, and I helped her realize that every person who talked to her wasn’t picking a fight.

She’d invite me on trips to far away places with her family, and I’d take her to my Grandma’s farm, where she’d muck the horse stalls. I’d go to her house for dinner, complete with a full contingent of staff and servers, and she’d come to my house and have to do the dishes after dinner.

As we got older, we remained friends. Talia would drag me to high school parties where alcohol and drugs were everywhere—the kind of parties where the dealers came to you, not you to them. In return, I’d take her to see my younger sister’s music recital. She tried to teach me how to wear makeup, I tried to teach her how to drive stick. We introduced each other to things we would not otherwise experience if we weren’t in each other’s life.

But it wasn’t always yin and yang. It didn’t take Talia too long to realize that I was a fantastic academic resource. Talia was not a great student—not because she couldn’t but because she didn’t care. But I was. At first she’d occasionally ask me to help with her homework. Then more often. Then she started asking me to do it for her. She offered to pay me. And I said no.

That was the first time that Talia flipped out on me. We were twelve.

“You ungrateful bitch!” she’d screamed at me. “After all that I’ve done for you! And you can’t even help with my school work.” She’d stared at me. “All you ever wanted was my money, and when I ask you for one little favour, you say no,” She sneered at me. “If it wasn’t for me, you’d still be a loser. I hate you!”

Instead of listening to any more of her tantrum, I’d gotten up and left—a strategy I still employ. I knew there was no point in arguing with her when she was this worked up. We didn’t talk for over a week—forever in the life of a ‘tween. Eventually, Talia and her mother showed up on our doorstep.

“Talia has something she needs to say,” said Mrs. Jensen. She turned to her daughter. “Talia.”

“I’m sorry,” she said. “I should do my own homework, and not make you do it all. And I shouldn’t be mean to my friends.”

Over the years there would be a lot of freak-outs and apologies. But I always came back.

Now it was twenty years later, and we’d just had another row. I had to admit to myself that Talia’s tantrums were getting a bit old. Plus, they were getting weirder.

A couple of months ago, we were supposed to go to the movies.

“That is the stupidest outfit I have ever seen you wear! Didn’t you look in the mirror before you left the house?” Talia said, giving me the once over.

I looked down at my attire—black jeans, red blouse, black jacket, low boots. “I did look in the mirror,” I said. “I thought I looked fine.” I was confused. “We’re just going to the movies.”

“You look stupid. I can’t go with you looking like that.”

So we didn’t go, and I went home. Four days later, she called an apologized—sort of. She didn’t say sorry for insulting my clothes, just that she was cranky that day. I let it go. Again. But recently, the apologies were less Sorry I’m a jerk and more You should have known better.

And Jason seemed to be less tolerant of my interactions with Talia—almost like I should have known better, as well. Which surprised me. Jason and I had always been able to bounce things off of each other. Now, all of a sudden, he was done with the drama Talia brought into our lives.

This last episode had me second-guessing my personal relationship with Talia. Was she trying to piss me off so much so that I’d stop coming back? I thought about it. Talia was—clinically speaking— a narcissist with borderline personality disorder. No doubt about it. And she knew that was her diagnosis. She’s known for years. Each of her therapists diagnosed her, but when they’d try to get to her understand how detrimental her behaviour was to her and those around her, she’d switch therapists rather than work towards change in her behaviour.

I knew that Jason was right. It was not a healthy relationship, And what would the toll be if Talia and I remained friends? Personally? And to my relationship with Jason? Talia seemed to be the reason that the glue in my world wasn’t holding as strongly as it had been.

As it turned out, I didn’t have to make the decision. It was made for me. I’d left work early, and pulled into my driveway far earlier than I would normally arrive home. And there was Talia’s car, parked in the driveway. In fact, it was parked in such a way as to block my access to the garage.

My heart thudded in my chest. There really were only a very limited reasons that she would be here, when I wasn’t—amends, revenge, or Jason. I walked up to the front door, and turned the handle—it was unlocked. I slowly opened the door, stepped in, and listened. I could hear voices in another part of the house.

If it was Jason’s voice that I had heard, then I was … concerned. Talia was not a fan of Jason. She felt that Jason had too much control over me, and always put his nose in where it wasn’t wanted. And, she’d sussed out that he felt the same way about her, which wasn’t that hard—he’d leave as soon as possible when she came over, he wouldn’t go to her house on the rare occasions that we were invited over, and he never even tried to make small talk with her. The only common bond between the two of them together was me—neither of them wanted the other to be in my life.

I took a deep breath, and quietly walked towards the stairs. The voices were coming from upstairs. That did not bode well, at all—why would they be upstairs? The only rooms upstairs were, well, bedrooms. My heart sank, tears welled up in my eyes.

Betrayal.

Betrayal by the two most important people in my life. The two people I trusted. The two people who declared their dislike of each other at every opportunity. The two people I had been trying to bring together in friendship for years.

I turned to go back downstairs and wait for them to finish whatever they had been doing, when I heard a yell. It was Jason. It didn’t sound pleasurable, not pleasurable at all. I turned back and walked to my bedroom door, and flung it open.

And stopped.