Dear Ex (Ex?) Friend
Are hand-knit socks enough to repair a friendship wounded by politics?
Amid Life is, at its heart, about resilience. I post weekly about my career and personal midlife reinvention, and I invite other writers to share their stories using a simple prompt:
Tell us about a moment when everything changed.
Today’s moment-of-change story comes from Joni B. Cole, writing instructor and author of seven books, including the acclaimed Party Like It’s 2044, in which the following (timely!) essay appears.
Dear Ex (Ex?) Friend
I hadn’t seen you for a couple years, not since politics cleaved our friendship. Then all of a sudden, there you were on this early winter morning, crossing my path in the gym parking lot.
And before I could remember that you are a Republican and I am the opposite; before I could remember my vow to never, ever forgive Trump supporters—including you—you hugged me hello. And I hugged you back.
The relief—to feel love instead of anger.
“How’s the writing going?” you asked.
“Did you ever apply for that new job?” I wondered aloud.
“Can you believe this weather? When’s the last time we had this much snow?”
We lingered in the parking lot as the sun rose higher in the sky, cutting the chill. Our exchange was just small talk—not like all those heart-to-hearts, and laugh fests, and shared secrets that got us through our divorces and kid scares; that brought us close and made life that much more fun.
Still, on this morning, even small talk felt like a big deal.
For what seems like forever, I have tried not to feel such...betrayal. I have lectured myself so many times. Try to understand her point of view. Forget our differences. What could be more important than friendship? But always, I hit a wall.
Who would help put a racist in the White House but another racist? Who would still support a man who bragged about grabbing women by the pussy, labeled Mexicans rapists, mocked disabled reporters, put children in cages?
You! I thought, with that goddamn elephant t-shirt in your closet.
In the parking lot, you pointed to your feet. “Remember these socks,” you raised the cuff of your jeans. Red wool, shot with blue.
We reminisced about a gathering my partner, Helmut, and I had hosted several years ago—a different world ago. He had brought out a big cardboard box full of socks, each pair hand-knit by his 100-year-old mother in Germany. They represented decades of love and fine needlework, never worn, soft, rich in color. (But really, how many socks can one son wear?) At the gathering, you and our other friends selected a pair or two to take home. A lovely way to share the warmth.
“I think of you guys every time I wear these socks,” you said. “One foot is you, and the other is Helmie.”
(I remember when you assigned him that pet name, after you’d finally deigned him worthy of my affections.) I laughed, imagining Helmut and I as sock puppets on your feet.
By now, the gym parking lot was half full and the sun was shining in my eyes, blinding me, so I shifted position.
You were such a good friend, I thought. One hug in a parking lot had brought it all back. Then you were my ex-friend, but what happens now?
If we were to let it all go, the politics, the angry rhetoric, the water under the bridge, would we become ex ex-friends? Would that allow us to get back to where we had started?
We said goodbye with vague promises to get together. You headed to your SUV, and I got into my hybrid. As I waited for my car to warm up, I thought about our encounter, and a lame joke popped into my head—
“You know, those are both left socks you have on your feet.”
Too soon, I thought, but at least it was something.
🧦
This essay was originally published in Party Like It’s 2044, University of New Mexico Press.
Thank you, Joni, for letting me share your work! The timing for this piece is (unfortunately) right on, as empathetic humans struggle to find love amid anger.
JONI B. COLE is the author of seven books, including two books for writers: Good Naked: How to Write More, Write Better, and Be Happier (listed as one of the "Best Books for Writers" by Poets & Writers magazine); and Toxic Feedback: Helping Writers Survive and Thrive (“strongly recommended” for students and teachers by Library Journal).
Whenever I write, I hear Joni’s voice: Start late, get out early. Show, tell, reflect. End in scene — and so many more bites of wisdom. She teaches creative writing to adults (online and in person), and I highly recommend her workshops. ⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐
Her latest book, Party Like It's 2044, is described by scholar and humorist Gina Barreca as, “Fabulously readable and thoroughly engaging, it is Cole’s voice that makes her stories sing. Whether she’s leading us into laughter or holding our hand through dazzling moments of emotional recognition, Cole takes writing seriously while taking herself lightly, thereby illuminating the world with these memorable stories.”
Joni contributes to the Jane Friedman blog and other publications and hosts the podcast “Author, Can I Ask You?” Joni lives in Vermont and has two daughters.
For more info about Joni, her books, or workshops, visit thewriterscenterwrj.com
Work hard. Be brave. Believe.
Catherine
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