Sigh. This is all so complicated.

I hated high school. It was the 70s, after all. Welcome Back, Kotter was popular on TV, "Tie a Yellow Ribbon Round the Old Oak Tree" went gold, we lost in Viet Nam, Nixon resigned over Watergate, my parents' marriage was unraveling. They even tried to make me read Moby Dick! How could anyone be happy under such miserable circumstances?

Of course, life is never all bad. And when I look back on those unhappy days, I can recall some bright spots. I had one really good friend. Judy. She was smarter and geekier than I was, therefore I didn't have to hide my smarts or my geekier tendencies. Hanging with her was a relief.

Between the ages of 15 and 30, we were very close. She wasn't easy to be friends with, since she suffered from agoraphobia, but her intelligence and artistic tendencies made her worth any inconvenience.

Until 1987. More than 20 years ago. Judy was dating a photographer, an older guy (considering that she and I are both 51, right about now he must be ... dead). This guy was a recovering alcoholic who had briefly slept with Judy's sister. (HEY! I warned you this was complicated!) She asked me to try to get him a job with my employer, a haircare company that paid for a lot of product photography. While he and I were discussing this on the phone, the conversation got very personal but not (at least not in my eyes) inappropriate. He never followed up, never called any of the numbers I gave him. I thought he wasn't interested in the work and that this episode was over.

Fast forward several weeks -- I had just had some female-type surgery. I'd never had any type of procedure before and was frightened. When I got home, I was supposed to stay in bed and off my feet completely for 24 hours. THIS was when my close friend chose to confront me. When I was home, when I was scared, when I was supposed to stay off my feet. THIS is when she decides to ask me why I hit on her boyfriend.

Huh? What? Not, "Did you come on to my boyfriend?" Not, "John thought you were flirting with him, isn't that crazy?" No, she asked me why I hit on her boyfriend. He told her I did it, so it had to be true

After 15 years of friendship, of Christmases and birthdays, of late night phone calls and confidences, she just automatically accepted his word over mine. And waited until I was uncomfortable and scared to confront me. I was sooooo angry I couldn't stay still. As we argued, I paced, and hemorrhaged, which set back my recovery by a day or two.

I wrote her a letter telling her I never wanted to hear from her again, and why. And I never did.

I saw her on a train once, years later. She gestured to me across the car and I shook my head "no" and that was it. I did not want to speak to her.

This morning, I received the following email from her:

"A lot of time has passed--I never read your last letter-felt I would hear things I didn't want to keep in my head/heart. Interested in how you are."

I don't know what to do with this. I don't miss her but I am curious as to what motivated her to Google me and track me down after two decades. I also wonder why she felt it was important to tell me she never read my letter.

Receiving her email made me reflect on Me at 30 vs. Me at 50. I don't see any value manufactured dramas -- like the entire "How could you hit on my boyfriend?" scene -- anymore. I have learned that life throws enough drama our way without us creating additional tumult.