I met you on a campus tour. I remember it vividly because I went back home at the end of the day and couldn’t stop thinking about you. We had barely exchanged words, only a side comment about the weather or the journeys we had taken to get here or a panicked question while we were registering for classes, but I knew that we would be friends. I had told my boyfriend about you, too, because I was so excited to have found someone I could get along with, someone who shared my interests, someone who searched me out on Facebook to add me as a friend so we could arrive at college with a connection. I had said it was a shame you already had a roommate because we were perfect for each other in every way.

We were in the same orientation group, too. After the general welcome in the massive basketball stadium, surrounded by 400 of our closest classmates and strangers, we had split off into clusters and we had found each other right away. I still remember your shy smile, your nervous giggle, as if you weren’t allowed to stand next to me. Later, you admitted you were scared of me, that you found me intimidating. No one had seen me like that before.

The first few days of school were sort of a blur. You got along with my friend from high school surprisingly well, so well in fact that I was scared you would leave me for her. But it was quite the contrary—you said you were scared I would leave you, that everyone eventually leaves you. You made me promise I would never leave you. I promised, but that was before I knew why everyone left you in the end.

The semester was fine, as fine as it could be at a school I didn’t really want to be with, with friends who changed me into a person I didn’t really want to become, but you made sure that I never felt pressured, that I was always safe and welcome by your side and that I would never be tempted to leave. Not that I had much of a choice—you were my closest friend, and I’ve always been desperate for friends.

When winter came, the campus lawn wasn’t the only aspect of college that became frosty. Our group of friends—whom I had assumed become so close and inseparable—disbanded over a small fight. I knew that it wasn’t entirely that small—that they were mad at you all semester, that they thought you were temperamental with your emotions, that you couldn’t handle being alone. So even though we tried, our close group of friends dissolved, leaving only me on our side. This meant I lost all of my friends in the process, but I had promised I’d never leave you, and I was only too happy to keep that promise.

We lived together the next semester. During winter break, your roommate left you for the same reason as our friends had. I didn’t understand the entire picture, only that you were alone, people were leaving you, and I loved you. I’ve never grown closer to someone in such a short amount of time before, and I just knew that we were perfect together.

You hated my friends from home, though, even though you’d never met them. They were going to take me away from you, you’d said, and you were jealous that I’d known them for longer. All the while you forced me to hang out with your friends from high school—even though I didn’t enjoy the company of half of them, and I had told you that I was uncomfortable at most of their parties.

We fought a lot in the spring semester. I just assumed that that was how “real” adult friendships worked, that there wasn’t a problem, that we were just so close and so open with each other that we argued to express our feelings, only to make up afterwards and become even closer through our struggle. Yet never before had I had a friendship in which I’ve fought so much—yelling, screaming loud enough for the neighbors to get annoyed, crying, exhausting nights spent telling you over and over again that yes, I would never leave your side, that I loved you, and we were best friends, that you weren’t a terrible person for me—yet at the back of my mind, I was planning a transfer of universities next year. Worse, I was planning to go to Morris, where my best friend from high school (the one you were always jealous of) was currently attending.

When I made the transfer official, you held it together. I was impressed because I had expected tears, screams, even a punch or two, as you enjoyed reminding me of how you could crush me as easy as a peanut shell if you had to. So I was surprised when you seemed to accept my departure as easy as you did—after all, we still had a few months together and we would simply make the most of the time we had left together.

But at the end of the week, the inevitable explosion came. We were walking to class together and you said something slightly rude to your boyfriend. I made an offhanded joke about it, telling you to apologize since your beau genuinely looked hurt. You returned my joke with a killing glare and fell behind and we continued to walk to class. You continued to ignore me until we got home.

“What’s wrong? Are you mad at me?”

You turned, livid, to face me, cornering me on my bed. How dare I tell you how to run your relationship, you had said. How you treat your boyfriend was none of my business, that next time I should keep my mouth shut. Before I could interject, you slammed the door and left. I didn’t see you for three days after that.

When you did return, I was waiting, this time with a rebuttal that you would have to listen to. I had taken time to write it out, mostly because I was so scared that you would turn physical on me that I wouldn’t be able to keep my thoughts straight had I not. You listened, somewhat patiently, as I spoke, but when I finished, you derailed the conversation entirely, changing the subject to a seemingly unrelated topic.

Your excuse: You were simply going to miss me too much when I’m gone.

You needed to prove to me that you could live without me.

You needed to show me that you didn’t need me.

Most importantly, you needed me to understand that I couldn’t survive without you.

Your rude behavior for the past few days was simply to prepare yourself for the inevitable—my transfer away from Wisconsin to Minnesota. You didn’t want to cherish the time we had together; you wanted to go cold turkey and see me only when necessary to make sure you could live next year.

I talked you back from the ledge and we made it to the end of the semester. I even went to the party all your friends put together the day after finals, even though I wanted to go home and be with my family and, as I had tried to tell you countless times before, your friends made me uncomfortable, especially your friend who liked to drink and wouldn’t take his eyes off me, even when I told him No. You brushed off my discomfort, making a point of telling me you would never forgive me if I didn’t go to the party. Naturally, I gave you one last favor as I was leaving next year. I felt like the one at fault, that I was selfish for seeking out a better environment for me, that I would hate my new life at Morris and be punished for leaving.

Mostly I was worried that you were right, that I wouldn’t survive without you, that you were my anchor and my lifeline, that I would be lost without you. I wasn’t sure what was going to happen the next year but I knew that I wouldn’t let the distance ruin us. I had promised I wouldn’t leave you no matter what, and I would keep my promise.

(To be continued next week.)