We were the closest of friends through our 20s. Then something changed

I can still remember the first time we met. I was 19 and we were at a house party. Over the preceding months, several people at university had mentioned Elizabeth and told me we would get along. So when we bumped into each other in the sweaty mess of the lounge room after midnight, I grabbed her arm and said: “We should be friends!”

And we were – for over a decade, Elizabeth and I remained close. What started as a coffee date on campus led to op-shopping excursions, road trips to the beach, silly nights of dancing at gigs, sharing intimate secrets over dessert and hanging out every day of the summer holidays.

Friendships may not last a lifetime, but that doesn’t mean that those which end don’t have ongoing value in your life.Credit: Istock

I loved her energy and fashion sense; the way she was genuinely interested in the lives of others, and the efforts she went to to be a good friend. The way she decorated her little unit with vintage crockery and fresh flowers; how we could see each other daily and never run out of things to say.

As we graduated uni and started our careers, Elizabeth and I stayed friends. We started meeting for brunch and discussing our workplaces. She was in a cycle of disliking her work, and over the years she moved from workplace to workplace without ever finding the right fit.

Elizabeth was an incredibly high achiever – whip-smart, motivated and an excellent communicator. But as the freedom of our youth started to wane, I noticed other qualities emerging. One friendship after another ended in a rift – women who Elizabeth had been close to became persona non grata. Usually there was culpability on both sides, but the standard she demanded from her friends started becoming higher and harder to meet.

We had arguments when I cancelled plans or was difficult to pin down around a chaotic schedule. At one point, Elizabeth moved overseas and we fought the week before she left. At that stage, we stopped speaking to each other.

Years passed, and we reconnected – older, wiser and both willing to admit our faults and forgive. For a while things were great. Indeed, years passed and I relished her friendship. But part of me also felt tense and stressed because I knew that there was an inherent difference between us now, as we began to solidify into the adult women we would become.

Finally, after a misunderstanding about plans we had made, it all came to a head. Fierce text messages were exchanged, and we fell out for good. I woke up the following morning knowing there was no coming back from this one. It was over.

In the first year after that day, I thought about Elizabeth almost daily. What is she doing? Is she happy? What would she think about this or that thing that happened, or would she like that article I read recently? I kept a mental list of books I knew she’d love. I saw her profiled by our university and felt a flash of pride for this intelligent, passionate young woman.

But after a while, the sharpness of that loss started to shift. When I heard she got married and moved overseas a few years ago, I felt uncomplicated happiness for Elizabeth – unmarred by grief for the first time since we stopped speaking to each other. Time had turned the wound of our friendship into an old scar, one that occasionally ached but had become part of me.

I could remember our life together with fondness, without the anger and hurt at how it ended.

There comes a time in female friendships when the intensity morphs and fades into something more solid, dependable and real. And even when those friendships don’t last, the impact they have had can’t be ignored. Elizabeth has left an indelible mark on my life and I can celebrate that now.

I will forever be grateful for her. She taught me to back myself, to lean on friends, to be generous with my time and to never concede on the core values that define me. She gave me so many incredible memories of our coming of age and is inextricably linked to every aspect of my 20s.

Some friendships aren’t meant to last forever. They fit at a certain point in our lives but then they begin to chafe and rub, unable to be moulded into the next phase that we enter.

Elizabeth and I fought for each other for years, however the last months of our friendship were like a breakup in slow motion – both of us knowing it couldn’t work, but neither willing to give up.

I don’t think I will ever see her again. But I can still picture her the day we met, her red top a beacon amid the sweaty bodies on the dance floor, her big eyes flashing with humour, the way she tipped her head back to laugh. I will cherish that girl always, and harbour no regrets for the time we shared together.

Zoya Patel is an author and freelance writer.

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