The Columns of Shauna Kelly

The Qualities of Friendship

.....© by Shauna Kelley , 1999

Throughout my life my mother has often warned me that after high school you will be able to count your true friends on one hand and have fingers left over. I dismissed her as a nut. I could not imagine this fate while walking through the halls my senior year, waving to people I considered bosom buddies rather then casual acquaintances. And then, suddenly, one day, the unthinkable happened- my mother was proven right.

My birthday has always been a sore subject for me. I don't like getting older, and my birthday comes at such a time that, with the excitement of Christmas dwindling and the anticipation of New Years mounting, it is easily forgotten, which is rather painful. In past years my birthday has never been a huge deal, but friends have always surrounded me.

This year as the clock struck Midnight and I was magically nineteen, I figured on a small, inconsequential day, surrounded by a few, close friends and my family; however, the first gift I received was food poisoning. After twelve hours of sickness about which I shall not delve into the gory, vomitous details, I basically just wanted to hear a familiar voice on the phone. In the afternoon my best friend Sarah, whom I have known and adored since before my twelfth birthday, came over with gifts and a smile, and then, at my pleading, left me to my sickness. Right before the next midnight signaled the end of this glorious day, one of my friends from school called me to wish me a happy birthday.

And that was it. No phone calls from all the people I had chauffeured throughout high school. Only one card in the mail, being from my wonderful roommate. Nothing else. Just Sarah, and a phone call from New York and a card from Delaware.

Three friends, two fingers left over.

I must admit that the lapse in my columns lately was due to the fact that this revelation that I truly only have three real friends made me extremely unhappy, and as I am rarely unhappy, being unhappy depressed me further. This cycle of melancholy and in all honesty, feeling sorry for myself, was broken by my best friend.

She came over. She kicked me out of bed. She took me out to lunch. She made me laugh, and when I laughed it didn't matter that I only had three real friends, all that mattered was that they cared about me.

I now feel quite foolish about all of this self- pity. Some people go through their whole lives without any real friends, and here I am, blessed with three. This birthday, though making me only a year older, has actually taught me something that many people don't seem to realize until much later in their lives- the greatest things in life are made special by quality, not quantity.

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