I am out $170. Money for which I am getting nothing in return. I am trying not to make this situation about the money, but I would be lying if I told you the money isn't upsetting.
Back around the new year, my oldest friend began saying she wanted to come to Chicago in August for The Fest for Beatle Fans. She could not afford to come last year, and we haven't seen one another since the Fest in 2022. The Fest is expensive and kinda dopey, but it can also be great fun and it's fitting my friend and I because we are Beatle bonded. We were first graders when we watched the Lads from Liverpool on The Ed Sullivan Show and fell in love (me with Paul, her with George).
So I was in. When she was still talking about the trip in March, I figured it wasn't just a daydream. I put in for time off work and asked my friend if it was OK with her that I reserve the hotel room. The hotel room is key. My oldest friend has mobility/health/anxiety issues. If we're in the hotel where the fest is held, all she has to do is roll out of bed and get on the elevator. No decisions need to be made in advance. No concerns about stairs or steps or ADA-complaint vehicles. If reservations were made at least 90 days in advance, we'd get a special nightly rate -- $170 vs. the regular $204.
She told me to go ahead. I sent her a copy of the confirmation.
Then she stopped talking about the trip. I knew I was in trouble when I asked her if she had her flights. LAX-ORD is one of the nation's most heavily traveled routes. United, American, and Spirit all take off and land multiple times each day. Why my friend has trouble getting a flight is confusing to me, but whatever. Somehow everything in her life is more complicated than it is in mine. "What are the dates again?" she asked. Uh-oh, so she hasn't even been looking and she didn't retain a copy of the confirmation. Got it.
More weeks go by. No mention of the trip.
Finally, last week, I sent her an email asking her if she was still coming in. No answer. I sent it again, this time with a more wheedling tone. Yesterday she confirmed via text what I already knew: she's not coming.
Oh, she has reasons! Her health is precarious. Her landlord is threatening to evict her. All that is true. The thing of it is, though, her health was precarious and her landlord wanted her out back in March, too.
I was able to cancel the reservation, but to get the lower rate I had to agree to a one-night deposit/penalty. And so now I am out $170.
Her life is a battle. She is overweight and has a bum leg. She is diabetic and has trouble regulating her blood sugar. Her kidneys are failing. Her anxiety is often off the charts.
She has no money. The cousin she moved to LA to be with has made it clear: my friend can't depend on her family. Her romance with Robert is no romance at all -- she has to deal with the man she's fallen in love with dating other women -- but she hangs on because he is, quite literally, her only friend within 2000 miles.
Looked at through that prism, my heart breaks for her. It must take courage for her to face each day.
Which is why I'm counting backwards from 170 and biting my tongue.
While I could be (and often am) angry at her for how she got into this mess, the fact is she's here. She is, fundamentally, a bright and funny woman who has fucked things up monumentally and, at 67, doesn't have much runway ahead of her to correct her course. Her life is hard enough without my judgement.
I love her. She deserves my compassion.
$170 is more than a week's pay at the card shop, so I'm disgruntled and infuriated. But more than that, I am just so sad about this whole damn situation.
Photo by Alexander Grey on Unsplash
