How I learned to love: my childhood best friends
by Olivia Lloyd
I met Emily Spickler sometime between first and second grade. It was so long ago I can’t remember the exact date of our first decision to become friends, but I remember the popcorn ceiling and baseboard heaters in her childhood bedroom. I can taste tuna sandwiches and her mom’s biscuits. I can feel the shag carpet in the finished basement of her parent’s split level. It’s all there, in bits and pieces.
Emily had whisper thin platinum blonde hair and when we were little, she used to get perms to give it texture. We were both among the first kids in our class to get glasses. My frames were a thick tortoiseshell plastic, hers were circular lilac wire. She had one of the most astonishing pubescent transformations I have ever witnessed. At first, puberty wreaked havoc; she was all braces and acne and long, awkward limbs. Then seemingly overnight the acne treatments started working, the teeth fixed themselves, and she emerged swanlike and beautiful – a tall natural blonde with great boobs. If this sounds like I was in love with her, you’re right.
“Some combination of sisterhood and friendship with a dash of romantic love tossed in to confuse things. “
romantic / platonic
I wouldn’t say that my love for Emily was romantic, but it was not entirely platonic either. I cared about every aspect of her being. I cared about her bra size and shoe size. I worried about the men she dated (often for good reason). I wanted to know what she was doing, where she was headed, what she wanted out of life. I loved her like you can only love your childhood best friends. Some combination of sisterhood and friendship with a dash of romantic love tossed in to confuse things.
Emily was a prolific writer, one of the only people in my circle that routinely wrote and passed along notes folded into a football shape during class. These are now precious artefacts to me, and they suggest that the feelings of mild obsession were mutual. She wrote me notes excoriating the boys I was dating and how they wasted my time, notes about mistakes I made and how she would never forget. Notes about the future plans we had. We both wanted to adventure outside of our tiny town - stat. She wanted to be a model and fashion journalist, and in her short life she did accomplish both of those things.
sleepovers
Like many young women, we were part of a “girl group” - a rich and complicated subset of female social life. We spent every drop of free time together, often opting to watch movies and sneak our parents’ liquor (sorry mom) over going out to parties. This changed a bit sophomore year of high school, when Emily started dating a bad boy and used our sleepovers as a cover to sneak out. Even now, I hesitate to reveal that fact. Emily is long dead and unable to angrily text me or call me or tweet that I had crossed a line and told too many of her secrets. But I am still afraid to divulge too much. I don't want to embarrass her or get her into trouble again.
In eleventh grade, Emily and I had a temporary falling out because I tattled. I called her mother and spilled a bunch of Emily’s secrets because I was afraid and alarmed by her clandestine partying, or so I said. Really, it is because I was hurt that she used our sleepovers as covers for her nighttime adventures and jealous that she didn’t take me along. She had found new friends and adventures without me. I think back on my decision to tattle with a great deal of regret. As an almost thirty year old woman, I know that Emily was doing pretty normal kid stuff. It might have eventually crossed the line, but really hadn’t. And I didn’t do it because I was truly worried-- I did it because my feelings were hurt.
Emily and I made up our senior year, and in many ways our friendship was stronger and more mature after that time apart. By the time we started college, we texted less frequently but supported one another more, savored our limited time together, and were generally kinder to one another. We were less codependent and therefore less worried about what the other one thought of our choices.
“Girlfriend groups are often portrayed as toxic cliques. To an extent that can be true, but that cruelty and competition is also often accompanied by deep, complex love.”
teal maxi dress
The last time Emily and I hung out was in Morgantown, West Virginia. I was helping her run last minute errands before she moved to LA for a summer internship followed by a yearlong study abroad program in Australia. All very adventurous, all very her. On the way back to Shepherdstown, we sang Taylor Swift’s Mean with the windows down on I-68 while nursing deathly hangovers. I wrapped a birthday present for her so she could open it in Australia. It was a teal maxi dress with rhinestone details that anyone in 2011 would feel lucky to own. I warned her not to open it before her actual birthday or I’d be pissed.
As I write this today, my childhood girl group is largely intact and a great source of comfort and confidence to me. I don’t think we started out as more special or unique than any other group – we had our own spates of cattiness, stupid fights and petty cruelties. But when Emily died, we were met with a choice. We could split off and deal with our grief separately, or really commit to one another and hold one another up. I’m proud to say we chose the latter and have weathered anniversaries, weddings, divorces, babies, and difficult tasks as a loving group.
Girlfriend groups, especially of young women and teens, are often portrayed as toxic cliques. I think to an extent that can be true, and was sometimes true of our group. But that cruelty and competition is also often accompanied by deep, complex love. I have never been so kind or cruel to another person as I have been to my best girlfriends. More than high school boyfriends or college flings, these girls (now women) have been my roadmap and lesson for building sustainable, long-term relationships. They were a proving ground for boundary-settling, validation, and expressing vulnerability with others. They reflect what I want out of a partner – honesty, adventure, and emotional depth. They are the people I go to for a gut check, to see if I am being honest with myself. I don’t always take their advice, but I always value it.
after emily
Emily died out of the blue on August 15, 2011. Right before she turned twenty. She was in Australia, it wasn’t anybody’s fault in particular. I won’t go into more detail but to say that every aspect of it was a nightmare that I sometimes feel I have never woken up from.
A few years ago, our remaining girl group gathered together and went to Emily’s house. Her mom had asked us to come and sort through some of Emily’s things. We sat on the carpeted floor of her childhood bedroom, surrounding the giant suitcase she had packed for her adventures. The bag was overstuffed and sealed. At first, I smiled to think of Emily stuffing too many things into her bag, but then I realized that was impossible. Emily had been in Australia for almost a month, her bags had been unpacked. She was not planning on leaving anytime soon. Her parents had undergone the impossible task of packing Emily’s precious belongings into this bag and carrying them back to the United States without her. And it hadn’t been opened since.
As we unzipped the suitcase, I felt a collective welling of tears, followed by almost immediate laughter as we sorted through the contents. The suitcase was full of our clothes. Shorts, dresses, and jackets we’d all been missing for years and assumed misplaced or lost. A true mark of sisterhood. I happily reclaimed a lost top and immediately realized that I’d do nearly anything to never see that top again. For it to remain lost among Emily’s many and expanding things, now finite and stacked in a corner of the room.
Nestled among the “borrowed” wardrobe and Emily’s own personal belongings was the teal maxi dress I’d gifted her in July 2011, unwrapped and already stained. She’d opened her birthday present early and made good use of it. I picked it up and held it close. It still smelled like TJ Maxx, not like Emily. But I’d take it. And I’ve still got it, unwashed and folded gently at the bottom of my closet. Ever-present, fixed in time. A tangible record of the love we had for one another, and a gift I am so grateful she opened early.
Olivia Ellen Lloyd is an Appalachian musician currently splitting her time between Shepherdstown, West Virginia and Brooklyn, New York. Her album, Loose Cannon, will be available on February 26, 2021. www.olivialloydmusic.com