We discussed me being useful, and I was convinced I didn’t hav | Lemix

We discussed me being useful, and I was convinced I didn’t have anything to give anyone.

“Babe, I haven’t done anything for anyone in years,” she said to me, when I told her how useless I felt.

All I saw was Allison doing things for people. She answered the phone when someone called looking for help with not picking up a drink. She answered the phone when someone called for help with a friend who’d been diagnosed with cancer. She answered the phone when her mother called, when her sister called.

She answered the phone when I called, and she’d answered the doorbell every time I’d shown up, hungry for the love she could give me.

“I feel like all I can do right now is take,” I said to her. People had been coming by. Visiting. Bringing me containers of turkey chili and books; my friend from the writing class took me to dinner at an Ethiopian restaurant around the corner; another friend came and sat in the back garden with me. I couldn’t figure out why they were there—I had nothing wise to say to them. I had no money to contribute to the cost of the turkey chili, the Ethiopian dinner. I couldn’t help anyone by writing about them; this time I really couldn’t make anyone famous.

“I don’t know if friendship really works like that,” Allison said. “The thing is, it’s really not about parity.”

Parity was all I’d ever known about friendship. That a certain kind of score was kept. That reciprocity might not happen immediately, but that it needed to happen at some point: the invitation returned, the dinner bought, the phone call answered, the paper edited, the money sent. But I couldn’t reciprocate. Definitely not now, and possibly not ever.

“I think maybe just let them love you?” Allison said after another friend had come, given me food and a book, and left. I told her I’d try.

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