A story about a dear friend of mine named Ben.
The Midwest is filled with highways, the United States (along with Canada) loves to ribbon the land with concrete despite the creatures whose homelands they occupy. It is not uncommon for a coyote or bird or small creature to cross the roads that have disrupted their territory to reach a thicket or field beyond 2-6 lanes of traffic. And as a result, it is not uncommon to see the lives of animals taken by the steady volume of vehicular passage. A small body huddled in a centre lane. The odd stillness of an animal that one usually only catches brief glimpses of in the wild. Struck down by someone heading down the road at 120 clicks.
While many of us might furrow our brows and feel a pain in our heart when seeing such things — contemplating the animal’s existence as we speed past mini-malls piled on top of marshes and former groves — Ben often felt compelled to pull over onto the shoulder of the road.
A shovel in hand, he would scoop up the animal and carry it to the side where he laid the animal to rest with some dignity. And while we all know the animal will eventually be consumed by local scavengers, such is nature, it was better to do that than let the body become beaten to an unrecognizable mass. Pulverized by multiple tires in the middle of an unceremonious highway structure. Furthermore, if the situation was conducive of it then Ben would dig a grave and bury it.
And while such a practice may seem quirky or time consuming or unpractical to some, I felt a great connection to a person who held deep reverence for such small things. Who took the time to recognize why these moments that strike our heart don’t need to be shrugged off as we carry on with our day, but instead it could be an invitation for a response.
This past January, I was having a challenging day at work due to colonial nonsense and noise surpassing its typical threshold. Plainly, it was due to residential denialist disruptions at the university I work at. I tried to care less about ignorant white people rebranding their racism (in all honesty it’s the same ol’ racism presented in a reused gift bag) but I couldn’t help the thoughts of my own mother and the impacts residential school has had on her life and subsequently the impacts it has had on my life. And I felt irritated about the amount of energy I had to put into masking and in that moment, I didn’t want to be around people. My face flushed to a vibrant red and I decided to take a walk outside.
I focused on the foggy air and willed the cool moisture to quiet the blood that had rushed to my cheeks. Breathing slowly, I walked by the trees that surrounded the building and I imagined how they know a world beyond the physical structure of this post-secondary institution. I rounded the building and had to walk through an open parkade to reach the entrance door. The irony of trying to ground myself in a concrete structure that reeked of gasoline did not evade me and I laughed to myself. The simmering resentment that I had for willful ignorance made violent by racist people continued to buzz within my brain. And as I turned my head to gaze out once more at the trees and the fog, I saw a spiderweb. It was woven between concrete pillars.
Dew had lined each silk strand causing it to appear like glimmering lace. The fog rising in the distance framed the web. And I thought about how this spider’s ancestors likely built webs in the trees and bushes of this territory and yet she set her mind to utilize this concrete structure for her own gain. Refusing to compromise her very existence and purpose, and focusing on building something quite beautiful that would result in sustenance and future livelihood. I can only assume that the beauty of the web was unbeknownst to the spider. It was simply what she had to do. It was everything she knew and it was why she was here. And she wasn’t even aware of how breathtaking it was.
And regardless if she chooses to create a new web elsewhere, closer to a tree or in a new location, the point is she wasn’t going to let the colonial disruption of a physical structure impede her will or purpose. And that was meaningful enough for me and I felt thankful for how this spider’s existence punctuated my thoughts.
I returned to the building and carried on with my day. And later that evening, I sent a photo of the spiderweb to a few people that I trusted could value something that many would be ambivalent to. I didn’t explain why I found it meaningful, I just shared the photo on its own. Encouraged by the few who commented on its beauty, I sent the photo to my mom.
I waited as the dots of her texting rippled like a heart beat.
She wrote back:
“Ewwww.”
And I laughed. Because it was such a funny response to something that caused my reflection earlier that day.
And for a brief moment, I thought about my friend Ben and I said to myself, this is the kind of photo he would have taken. And then I folded up the passing thought of my friend into the back of my head and continued on with the mundanity of chores or whatever else I had to do that evening.
Ben’s friendship is something that I have carried with me for a very long time despite it spanning an earlier period of my life. It was during a time where i was treading water as a teenager, my poetry and thoughts and political opinions were misunderstood by my parents. I fledged and fell and struggled to become strong enough to fly away with purpose.
We became friends online, I don’t recall how he found my LiveJournal. Algorithms weren’t really a thing so it must have been a haphazard hashtag that I used on a post.
Regardless, what started as comments about each other’s writing turned into a true friendship of phone calls across different time zones; letters across borders, state lines and provinces; collaborative comics and story making together; and several visits in-person. From the age of 17 to 21, he was my best friend. And we did our best to try and untangle the knotted thoughts we had about ourselves and the challenges we were both experiencing in our lives. Knowing someone would take the time to care was more than I could expect of anyone and as a result, it meant a lot to me.
Despite all of this, life is hard. Sometimes depression and anxiety can whisper cruel narratives that we eventually begin believing. And sometimes when we are not feeling our best, we do not act our best with our loved ones. Harm occurred between us, and regretfully I am responsible for some of that harm. And I have always felt terrible about the pain I caused.
Shreds of our falling out feels blurry now. I remember the hurt but the details are less clear. Despite the heartbreak of losing a friend and feeling misunderstood by someone I thought would always be there for me while I pried my knots out, I eventually let go of how everything ended and instead felt grateful for the meaning of our friendship and what I learned from it. And the basis of our friendship let me hope that i would find future friendships that would care enough about me to truly want to know me.
And I have. But every friendship is different and there’s varying types of connections out there. There’s different levels of reciprocity in terms of interest and understanding and that is okay and totally normal. I am grateful for every one I have met regardless of how friendship has sustained or served a certain time in our lives. I’m a big believer that sometimes friendships fade or drift or end but that doesn’t mean it wasn’t meaningful. I grieve the loss, for sure, but it’s something that i know may happen. And that allows me to find peace if something fragments or dissipates.
I credit my friendship with Ben for teaching me this lesson. Without a doubt, his friendship had a lasting impact on my life and from time to time, my thoughts return to memories of our connection so that I can pull perspective from it.
We haven’t really stayed in touch. I sent a rambling apology years after our falling out. A message every handful of years with updates lacking the connection we once had. Life has shifted, we had different responsibilities and commitments drawing our attention elsewhere and that’s just how it goes.
Which is why I was so surprised to see an email in my inbox last week from Ben asking to meet up. He was going to be in town for work and wanted to connect and so of course, why not?
Twenty years between seeing each other is a long time so it was a strange to experience how time can fold in on itself.
We are the same and not, familiar and different. Taking the time to ask questions, this isn’t us as teenagers or young people, this is us middle aged. We both have children. We both have faced hardships, have had joyful experiences, and have found ourselves lost in the maze of figuring out the right direction for our lives. So many questions and stories: What is new and what have we learned? People change and experiences can sharpen and soften how we respond to the challenges we endure and overcome. (But also, let’s appreciate the strength to release armour). Experience allows us to become more adept at facing familiar troubles. Hey, we got stronger while also dedicating a unique refusal to grow a skin too thick.
And while our visit made me appreciate how time collapsed like an accordion fold, I simultaneously recognized that there wasn’t as much time as I wanted for this present instance of seeing one another again.
Saying goodbye is always hard when you want more time but the potential of renewed friendship is hopeful. What is the real meaning of goodbye, anyways? In Tsilhqot’in there is no phrase for goodbye and instead we say, nanenuwes?in which translates to “I will see you again.”
But not everyone speaks Tsilhqot’in. I am still learning, too, after all.
And if all it is, is what has been… then that’s okay. I’ll find peace with that.
But it would be nice to have my friend Ben back in my life. The one who could appreciate the ephemerality and meaning of a spider web.
