memoirs are not for the faint of heart

When Chelsea emailed me her side of the story of how we became friends I quickly realized that this was not a project where I could offer critique for edits. The story is too close to me to be able to objectify and analyze in the context of grammar and the flow of the text. I will say that it just about made me cry and reading it, I learned some things that I didn't know before. Like the fact that Chelsea thinks I'm "mysterious" [me? mysterious?] and that she considers our friendship an answer to prayer.

I went into this challenge excited to write about this topic but when I came away, and especially once I read Chelsea's copy, I felt like I had largely failed to capture the actual feelings and general atmosphere that I attribute to our friendship. This, I have decided, is the hardest thing about writing memoirs: it's easy to record the facts about something, it's infinitely more difficult to capture its essence. I re-read The Things They Carried by Tim O'Brien and I was struck, even more so than when I first read it in high school, by the amazing skill he has for inserting his reader into parts of his life that are still so real for him. Amazing.

Well, here's Chelsea's memoir. If you so desire, you can read what I wrote here. Enjoy :)


Emily and I had our "friendship spark" on a January night. I was almost 19 or that night was my birthday. We were both freshmen at BYU and I trekked along with the rest of my hall to my first college dance. I surprised myself by tagging along (I didn't get out much) and became the center of an animated discussion about dating and boys on the way to the dance.

I never fit in with the girls in the hall. I had a hard time trusting them...they seemed too wholesome. I was the black sheep. I knew I'd taint them if I opened up. None of them sought me out. They only saw me at church, not taking the sacrament, and sitting outside the bishop's office every Sunday. I didn't seek them out, either. I made the decision to do what I was doing and let them do what they were doing. One afternoon, I surprised myself by going to a hall activity in the dorm basement with all the girls. A line of tape went down the middle of the floor. Our hall leader read off "grey areas" in Church culture. A question: Is it okay to wear a sports bra and short shorts when exercising? As I am a runner, I bolted to the "Strongly Agree" wall and threw myself against it. No one was near me. I turned around and challenged the "perfect Mormon girls" with my black sheep eyes. It was at that moment I realized I'd never be like them.

My summer and fall semester were filled with boy drama...drama that ended in me questioning religion and my self worth. The night Emily and I "sparked" was around my 8 month mark of weekly bishop visits and no sacrament. I made the resolve a few weeks previous during Christmas break to change my life around with God. Not an easy decision by any means. Quite the contrary, that night was soul wrenching. I stared at myself in the bathroom mirror and saw how red my eyes were, felt how hot my cheeks were, struggled to breathe in and out, and paced back and forth. I wanted out of my skin. I wanted out period. But I prayed and the decision was made for me: I needed to fight. No more hiding.

Fast forward to my first Sunday back at BYU after Christmas break. A new fire lit inside me. New light. New energy. A new thirst for what everyone else around me had: A testimony. I decided to give the girls a chance and tagged along for the dance. As mentioned earlier, they talked about dating and "how hard it was." My first thought? They have no idea what dating means. They have no idea how it feels to give everything you have to someone and then realize it wasn't enough. They've never gone through what I have. And that stopped me. Who was I to think those things? Who's to say they hadn't? And who in their right mind would wish what I'd been through on someone else? What was wrong with me?

I got quiet after a while and the other girls went on ahead of me. I let out a breath and tried to calm down. It was just a dance. It was just BYU. It was just a fun night. But I was losing it. And then I looked over my shoulder and saw Emily. I knew I needed to talk with her. I smiled at her, my mouth opened, and words poured out of me. Everything just came out to a stranger and she listened. She gave me something I'd been looking for a long time. She gave me hope that there was hope for me. I don't remember what our conversation was, but Emily's presence gave me strength and courage. I danced with the same passion and fire I had in my eyes when I challenged the girls. I let it all out and lived in the moment. Sweat dripped down from the ends of my hair, my fingertips were on fire, and that special tingle of life sparkled through my viens.

Since that night, Emily and I became inseparable. I felt safe with her. She protected me from others and from myself. She was quiet and supportive. She was mysterious. She was thoughtful and softspoken, but had a sharp tongue when called for. She was my match I'd been looking for. She supported me when I wanted to give up and hugged me tight when I wanted to get away. Her friendship changed me. I am so thankful for her opening my eyes.  I'm not the bitter and hard girl I was before I met her. I'm the woman I had the potential to be--and it was all because of Emily's living the Gospel.