Standing By Your Man

Long, long ago, children, in a magical land called North Dakota, a younger version of me took part in the wedding of one of my dearest friends, Sue. She's the tall blonde in the bridal finery. That's me standing next to her in the green floral dress. I was maid of honor. I never particularly cared for the man she chose to marry. I thought he had bully tendencies and was unkind to her dogs. But she was my friend and despite my negative opinion of her man, I wanted to be there for her on her wedding day. A few years later, they had relocated to Wisconsin, and I drove out to pay them a visit. I remember two things about their house. The first is that the walls were crowded with wildlife art. Seriously crowded. Practically floor to ceiling crowded. The second is that they had acquired an African grey parrot as a pet. It shrieked from its sizable cage in the corner of the living room. It kind of freaked me out. They told me the bird had set them back about five hundred bucks, and to please not tell their parents that they had spent such an inordinate amount of money on it. I thought it was weird that they should care what their parents thought of such things at that point in their lives. Shortly after returning home, I received a letter from Sue in which she inquired as to whether I had slept with her husband during my stay. She recounted several bits of evidence which she felt pointed directly to such a dalliance. I was horrified. In today's parlance, eeewwwwww! Remember, if you will, that I wasn't fond of the guy. I think I saw her once after that, and we eventually fell out of touch. This has come to be a recurring theme in my life. A  girlfriend accuses me of crossing a line with her man, and then discards me and our friendship and stands by him, seemingly forgetting about and subsequently forgiving his participation in something that never happened. My first recollection of such an accusation was on the playground at school when I was in third or fourth grade. A girl from my class approached me, flanked by two of her besties, and informed me that I was getting a bit too cozy with a boy from  our class. The boy in question was her boyfriend and I needed to back off. We were eight, at the most nine years old! I was puzzled about the whole thing. Truth be told, I liked another boy in our class, but it never occurred to me to stake a proprietary claim on him. Fast forward to a couple of days ago when the internet informed me that Sue's husband, John, had died just over a year ago. Which leaves me wondering if I should contact her. At the very least to extend my condolences, but maybe in the interest of mending fences, too. Even if nothing comes of it, I know from experience that making the effort is worth it.