The Law of Polarity

5. Boobtato

Our local hole-in-the-wall diner is a staple here on campus. Simply named Jimbo's Diner, they serve the best burgers, fries and milkshakes, as well as breakfast all day.

One of Jimbo's highlights is that they're open 24-hours. Perfect for late night munchies, 2am drunk greasy binges, or early morning risers.

Today we were in the latter category. I'm not generally a super early morning person, I'd classify myself as pretty average. However, Wren bust into my room at the ass crack of dawn this morning, sinfully refreshed with a hunger only pancakes could satisfy.

Why she didn't wake Aster up instead is a great question.

If I had to guess it's a combination of knowing I was probably only half asleep since I don't sleep that well to begin with, and also just the general audacity of this bitch.

She's bold and sometimes crazy, but she's also an amazing friend who, even after meeting Aster, makes sure she has time for me still too. She didn't just cast me aside like a used matchstick like she could've— the way others have.

We've been best friends since high school, only because she decided we would be. It was very one sided at first. I had no friends, I didn't fit in. I didn't trust myself, nor did anyone trust me. Except Wren. She plopped right down next to me a week into freshman year, stickers on her notebook, purple pen in hand, rainbows braided in her hair. Loud and bright and exactly what I didn't want. When I tried to ignore her or push her away she'd just waggle that finger at me and say she wasn't going anywhere. Years later she finally told me that my emotions had stood out like lightning in a storm cloud. She had picked up on my turmoil: my jealousy of other peoples friendships and weaving abilities. My want for companionship, but also my hesitation and fear keeping me back.

For several years she was only friend. She stuck with me even when she saw me struggle to control my weaving, leaving charred paper and burnt fabric in my wake. She could see the other students alienate me, even watched my mother yell at me or just plain ignore me with disdain. She knew why I needed my space, could read me even when I tried to hide it away. But while I've opened up more over the years there's still a thin wall around me that even she hasn't quite broken down.

I've tried enough forms of meditations, self reflections — yes, even crystal healings— to know that I'm flawed. I've hurt people. I've been reminded time and again of my destructive potential, and I decided long ago to put that wall in place and keep it there.

By the time we met Jasper our senior year of high school, I had come to terms with myself. I've been content since then to finally have friends who aren't afraid of me, while keeping them at a literal arms length. They both understand me better than most, especially Wren and her knack for gripping my feelings better than even I do, but there's still that deep, innate, potential part of me that looms there. I could never forgive myself if I hurt either of them. So the wall stays up, even if it's been beaten and thinned by years of Wren's patience.

She's my best friend by choice now. Her once annoyingly persistent personality now comforting. Her once peeving prying into my own life and head now a knowing bond.

I've tried to make up for lost time with Wren; she doesn't resent me for pushing her away those first few years, but I'm grateful for her steady friendship. I know she cares about me, as I do her. She can still be a bit overbearing at times but that's what makes her her, and I know it's well intentioned.

So when she busts into my room at 5am with the audacity of a freight train, wanting to spend time with me and just chat and eat— I don't say no. Even if it was extremely tempting to throw a pillow at her face instead since I still hadn't entirely recovered from the night before.