To Grow a Friendship

Many years ago, I knew an acquaintance I’ll refer to as “Cassie.”

I met Cassie as a freshman in college. For a brief time, we worked in the same area on campus.

Cassie was the oldest of three siblings and came from a broken home. (Her dad remarried about the time she started college.)

Cassie was a bit rough around the edges and she was sorely lacking in social graces. Her hair was rarely combed, her clothing often rumpled, and her language a bit coarse. She didn’t curse; she used a lot of inappropriate slang words and colorful terms.

Cassie had difficulty in making and keeping friends. Usually, her rough exterior and personal mannerisms drove people away before they really got to know her.

Of course, I was determined to be her friend. I admit, I felt sorry for her. More importantly, I wanted to extend to her the love of Jesus.

It seemed that classmates went out of their way to avoid her. She made folks uncomfortable.

One day Cassie and I were walking out of the dining hall together. I don’t recall what we were talking about, but I well remember the loud burp that flew past her lips just as we approached the exit doors.

The belch was so loud that it literally echoed in the cavernous room as it bounced off the walls, floor, and ceiling. The dining hall erupted in giggles and guffaws and several “Ewww…what was that?” remarks.

Cassie didn’t miss a beat. She continued talking just as if nothing had happened. No “excuse me, please” or flustered look of embarrassment. Nothing.

I was embarrassed for her.

No wonder, I thought. No wonder she doesn’t have any friends.

As we stepped outside into the bright afternoon sunlight, I tried to gently broach the subject of manners.

“Cassie…uh…it’s customary to say ‘excuse me’ after one burps…especially in public.”

“What on earth for?” she asked, honestly perplexed. “It’s a normal body function. It’s not like people can help it or anything.”

I tried a different tack.

“Well, even though it’s an accident, to acknowledge it with a ‘pardon me’ is just common courtesy.”

“Oh,” she replied, nodding slowly.  “Thanks. I didn’t know.”

And the sad thing was, I don’t think Cassie really did.

There were several awkward incidents like that in the time that I knew Cassie. She was a smart girl, but obviously, socially backward. Sometimes, she’d ask me questions that just broke my heart.

“Why don’t people like me?”

“Why don’t I have any friends?”

“What did that professor mean when he asked me if I’d ever seen My Fair Lady?”

Prior to graduation, Cassie looked me up on campus one day.

“I just wanted to tell you…thanks. Thanks for being my friend.”

Friend.

Although I’d tried to be Cassie’s friend in the four years that I knew her, I never really thought I’d succeeded beyond the acquaintance phase. There was always a certain reserve about her–a protective wall she’d erected to insulate herself from further hurts.

Before she turned to go, she asked, “Is it okay if I hug you?”

“Cassie, of course it’s okay.”

It was one of those times that’s forever etched in my memory. I suppose the poignancy of that moment was cemented when Cassie whispered, “You know something? That’s only the second hug I can ever remember having in my life.”

I went back to my dorm room that day and cried. For Cassie. For those like her. For the injustice there sometimes is in this old world.

Many years have passed since that day, and I often wondered what became of the girl who called me “friend.”

Though I don’t know the circumstances, sadly, I learned she’d passed away.

From what I understand, she went on to have a career in the helping profession. For privacy reasons, I won’t mention other particulars, but I believe she came to find happiness to a degree.

Today when I think about the word friend I’m still overcome with emotion. It’s a simple word, but one with big impact.

And I’m reminded, too, that there is a friend “who sticketh closer than a brother…”

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What characteristics do you value in your friendships?