Terrific story, Julie. I love it. Love the pacing, the quick sketches and snatches of dialogue and the piercing observations of the cocktail of envy, revenge, ambivalence and love that a lifelong friendship generates. Great stuff, thanks.
I love the way you've captured the love and envy inherent in a young friendship and the way we go our separate ways but never forget. Look forward to reading more of your work.
Julie, your story was wonderful! Your characters were so real I swear I could hear them breathing! I once knew girls like them (say, what ever happened to S or to C?) so reading the opening paragraphs, I opened an account, just so I could read on! Innocence-to-experience is the woman’s odyssey too. And as women (in the US anyway) living past sixty now number in the millions, we see Alice and Mira also as products of their times: Mira, still self-absorbed; Alice, still “the Good Samaritan,” each remains the other’s foil. Yet, both women have a handle on things that keep “the Frenchman” for instance, in perspective: it happened but okay, we’re still friends (as likely their mothers would not have remained). So now at the end (of life) Mira can have “closure.” Why be sad, she seems to say, “I’ve done everything I wanted to do.” At school their friendship (with hints, to me, of John Knowles’ Gene Forrester and Finny) seems to change Alice more than Mira, who also smokes and sleeps with boys but keeps to a code that serves her throughout her life. Alice’s standing as Mira’s “oldest friend,” is now a position of honor. To me “coming of age” means of old-age too. Alice is not dying but Mira is. Yet both still share an intimacy that transcends the sexual: both feeling few regrets; having full careers and good marriages (yes, Mira’s too), plus; getting to see their children as successful adults. Alice and Mira themselves could not be more dissimilar, yet the general trajectory of their lives is roughly the same. Only, now “naïve” Alice sees as Mira must: that staying in touch is vital; and even if (as Alice’s husband says) it is just to feel significant yourself. In my opinion, a work of art is superb that causes me to think. Your story does. Afterwards I thought of Alice as fearful as Mira, of being cast out (of life), of becoming isolated as death takes our friends away from us too. The words to an old song also came to mind: “ . . . love the one you’re with.” So we do: keep up, stay in touch, accept all of the little faults and foibles, the imperfections, since practically nothing is unforgivable really. That is love too, isn’t it?
Deborah Snyder replied on Tue, 09/01/2015 - 11:32am
Terrific story, Julie. I love it. Love the pacing, the quick sketches and snatches of dialogue and the piercing observations of the cocktail of envy, revenge, ambivalence and love that a lifelong friendship generates. Great stuff, thanks.
Not one false note. omg!
I love the way you've captured the love and envy inherent in a young friendship and the way we go our separate ways but never forget. Look forward to reading more of your work.
Julie, your story was wonderful! Your characters were so real I swear I could hear them breathing! I once knew girls like them (say, what ever happened to S or to C?) so reading the opening paragraphs, I opened an account, just so I could read on! Innocence-to-experience is the woman’s odyssey too. And as women (in the US anyway) living past sixty now number in the millions, we see Alice and Mira also as products of their times: Mira, still self-absorbed; Alice, still “the Good Samaritan,” each remains the other’s foil. Yet, both women have a handle on things that keep “the Frenchman” for instance, in perspective: it happened but okay, we’re still friends (as likely their mothers would not have remained). So now at the end (of life) Mira can have “closure.” Why be sad, she seems to say, “I’ve done everything I wanted to do.” At school their friendship (with hints, to me, of John Knowles’ Gene Forrester and Finny) seems to change Alice more than Mira, who also smokes and sleeps with boys but keeps to a code that serves her throughout her life. Alice’s standing as Mira’s “oldest friend,” is now a position of honor. To me “coming of age” means of old-age too. Alice is not dying but Mira is. Yet both still share an intimacy that transcends the sexual: both feeling few regrets; having full careers and good marriages (yes, Mira’s too), plus; getting to see their children as successful adults. Alice and Mira themselves could not be more dissimilar, yet the general trajectory of their lives is roughly the same. Only, now “naïve” Alice sees as Mira must: that staying in touch is vital; and even if (as Alice’s husband says) it is just to feel significant yourself. In my opinion, a work of art is superb that causes me to think. Your story does. Afterwards I thought of Alice as fearful as Mira, of being cast out (of life), of becoming isolated as death takes our friends away from us too. The words to an old song also came to mind: “ . . . love the one you’re with.” So we do: keep up, stay in touch, accept all of the little faults and foibles, the imperfections, since practically nothing is unforgivable really. That is love too, isn’t it?