A little less hot, it still smells like rain when the bus pulls to the end of our street. McKenzie doesn’t see me, only her neighbor friend. Kyle looks at the ground as his shoes clunk down the black steps. His face is taut and I know he’s holding back. It isn’t until dinner that he finally breaks.

“No one sat by me on the bus.”

Like a lioness I crouch in protection. “Oh I’m sorry, Buddy.”

“Did you try to sit by someone?” asks Dad.

“Yeah. He moved away.”

His name. I want, his name.

“And then the bus driver yelled at me to sit down.” This, like a tree root that won’t stop, is all it takes to make him crack. Before I know it his daddy’s arms are around him.

My boy, the little one, he is tender-hearted. He loves full, and fierce.

School friendships are the cornerstone of our education. It is my unprofessional opinion, of course. But I’ve watched the way my children become fickle about learning, and it’s often based on how their relationships are going. When I think back to my own elementary career, I don’t think of those stacks of numbers I had to multiply or the words I read aloud when it was my turn. I think of how it felt to win dodge ball in front of everyone, of notebook paper with stupid drawings from my friend that would literally have me in stitches for an entire day.
Or my awful fourth grade year. There were three of us, which meant that somebody was always on the outs. “I’m friends with you again but don’t tell her.” “She’s so stuck up. I’m mad at her. Don’t, say, a word.” As you can guess I was often the her, the she. And I’m pretty sure I was the one saying it on several occasions.

It is hard to make good friends. It is hard to keep good friends.

And not much has changed. Sometimes by default. People move, grow in different directions, or just lose touch. It isn’t mean-spirited or intentional. It is life. Sometimes.

 I’ve had friends never return texts or e-mails. Just silence. I’ve been left with the lonely, one-sided wave while someone pretends not to see me in the parking lot. I’ve even had a friend move without a word.

It’s been said that women are relational, emotional. Women need other women. Really? Then why is it so dang hard sometimes?

So I rack over what I did, what I said. I think, “Ugh, am I clingy, needy, high maintenance, hypersensitive?” Probably. I’ve caught myself lately saying “If there’s room in your life…” Or, “Do you have time to hear this?” I’ve been burned, and in a culture that barely lifts its eyes from ten million devices, that must be unceasingly entertained and thus isolated, it isn’t easy. Have you walked through the airport lately? It is daunting. I’m guilty of it myself. 

But I want more. I want to do life with somebody. Lots of somebodies. I want a friend who can handle my ugly as well as my beauty. Who will share five dozen cookies with me in secret. I want to share a secret. I want someone who will walk barefoot on my floors to ransack my fridge because they are so at ease in my space.

I’m a pursuer, to a fault. I don’t let one unanswered text go lightly. (Five, OK I get the hint.) I fight. I lay myself vulnerable. I take the risk because it’s required if I’m going to have any real friendships. There are moments I’m left reeling after rejection (and then the 5 dozen cookies become all mine for enjoyment). I start to wonder why I keep trying. Why put myself out there at all?

Because dear Kyle boy, the world needs your kind of fierce. And it needs mine too.