Impressions on a Plunger
A Memoir
I never expected to feel such a strong attachment to a plunger. Wooden handle, black pump on the end, Walmart sticker indicating its worth as $3.65. An ordinary plunger. Yet it is due to that common household item that I am a friend with my best. My best friend.
This story begins much like any other: Boy meets girl, boy falls for girl…boy’s ex hates girl, girl hates the ex.
Truth is, I hated her because I knew I could never measure up to her in all the basics – flaxen hair shining down her back, clothes from higher scale stores than my eclectic wardrobe… and worst of all, the personality of…a princess. She was adored, and she knew it. How could I hope to compete with that? But for the brief moments I dwelt on these matters, I contented myself in the knowledge that he was mine now. He regaled me with stories of her weaknesses and sins, why she had broken his heart and why he could never forgive her. I need hardly say how this fed my dislike of her, apart from my jealousy; she was now my mortal enemy. And why shouldn’t she be? She had mortally wounded my beloved!
Though the Princess lived in the freshman hall at Heritage, not but a few doors down from me, we ignored one another completely. Whenever I saw her walking toward her room, we both became suddenly absorbed in our cell phones, or the floor, or a sign on the wall – our eyes averted to prevent potential contact. Aside from the hall, I hardly saw her apart from a company of potential suitors (hopelessly infatuated freshman and a sophomore or two, waiting on her beck and call) and thought to myself, “Wow. He was right about her. I’m so glad I’m not like that.� The enmity grew.
Until one night at an evening church service, I felt conviction. I hadn’t been raised this way. Always taught to live at peace with everyone, I knew I couldn’t consciously and openly hate this girl who had done me no wrong. Conflicting emotions abound. I desired so badly to be loyal to my boyfriend, who was not about to be over the issues with the Princess and his relationship with her… but my heart emphatically urged me the opposite direction. I hushed it up for the time being, and promised I would make good of the next convenient opportunity to speak to her – all the while praying that day would never come.
But, oh, it did. It was a Tuesday, and I was writing a paper for Psychology in my room sometime in the evening. The train was noisily making its way past the window when I heard a knock at my door. I called out that the door was unlocked, to come on in – only to see the Princess looking down at me, sitting at my desk wearing my tattered (but oh-so-comfy) pajamas with my hair thrown up into a bird’s nest on the top of my head, librarian-style. My enemy smoothed the folds of her apparently expensive skirt and shook her hair, filling the room with the smell of Garnier Fructis – nervous movements, I realize. But what a time to note the contrast between us. (Why couldn’t she have come when I still had on my new shirt from American Eagle, and my mischievous curls were all nicely straightened?)
“Hey, um. Can I borrow your plunger?�
Wow. Not the first words I was expecting her to voice in my direction. And boy did she utter them with disdain. I’m sure I was the last person in the world she ever wanted to ask such a question… Ah the hazards of having the only plunger in the hall. I told the Princess she could. I took my plunger out of the bathroom and handed it to her, making sure I didn’t meet her eyes and our hands didn’t graze. She gripped the handle and whisked out of the room.
The Princess reentered not five minutes later, daintily carrying the plunger, her face a grimace – repulsed not only by the object in her hand, but the entire situation in general. I looked up at her. She held the plunger out to me, a white plastic bag wrapped around the black pump on the end. I took it once again and replaced the plunger in its place of honor between the toilet and the shower. I heard the door shut behind her.
A remote whiff of Garnier Fructis had been left behind… and I knew this was as good a time as any. Well, mostly, I felt my conscience would murder me if I didn’t follow through on my earlier promise. And while I’m all about a lack of internal conflict, right is right.
I very nearly fell into the hall, clumsily tripping over my doormat. Count on me to make an awkward situation even more so. Calling for her to wait, I barely caught myself before shouting Princess instead of her real name. My enemy turned, irritation evident in the glance she gave. This was going to be harder than anticipated. And I had anticipated a vast deal of hostility.
With her arms crossed, the Princess watched me try to explain the feelings laid on my heart. She nodded at all the appropriate times – nodding frequently and a little too insistently, betraying her annoyance. I told her it was unfair of me to base my feelings of her on such an obviously biased authority; that I hadn’t been acting lovingly toward her, and I hoped we could get to know one another apart from our ‘mutual friend.’ The Princess forced an almost perfect smile that didn’t quite meet her eyes, and said that would be fantastic. I told her I’d see her around, she responded with a brisk, “Yep,� and we each headed back to our respective rooms. I felt satisfied that my job had been done.
My first PBU relationship was over not two weeks later. For whatever reason, he had decided I wasn’t what he wanted. This floored me. Blindly, I turned to the only other person I could think of who had experience with him – the Princess. Although it’s hard to say I felt comfortable approaching her, she was no longer my ‘mortal enemy,’ so I wasn’t uncomfortable asking her advice. We spoke via Facebook – the Switzerland of melodramatic warfare – and embarked on a precarious friendship, now based upon a mutual dislike for our ex.
Because he had been my social life for the first month and a half of the school year, I was somewhat lacking in the friend department. Almost immediately, the Princess’s group adopted me. She didn’t thank me for that, though. She felt I was encroaching on territory already marked as hers. From early on, the Princess had gotten the feeling I was trying to become her. I look similar to her, I dated her ex, I became friends with her friends – even her friends back home. Needless to say, this did not endear me to her.
Months went by, and before long, I was an inextricable part of the group. The Princess and I were on friendly terms, but we were by no means kindred spirits… Until that fateful night in January, when four of us girls went to visit another in our group at her home in New Jersey, when something clicked.
Despite the fact that I manage to get lost in my own hometown, I was appointed her navigator. And because we were all incredibly sleep-deprived and giddy (aka typical freshmen), we were almost immediately lost. Initially, the Princess was undeniably livid due to the amount of gas being wasted. But as the journey back onto the right road progressed, the situation became more and more ridiculous. During a particularly stressful moment, when the Princess had just received a call from our friend in Jersey (who indicated we were indeed traveling the opposite direction of her home), I looked over at her innocently and asked,
“Hey, um. Do you think I could borrow your plunger?�
She burst into laughter and surged into the story in her perspective – the awkwardness, the irritation, the hatred… And somehow, that did it.
For the rest of the ride, we screamed and cackled and made as if we had been friends for all eternity. When we eventually turned the final corner to our friend’s house, it didn’t change. Mere sentences, ordinary sentences instantly became inside jokes, one after another. Everything was funny. The fact that people from the Midwest say ‘pop’ instead of ‘soda’; the Bible says, according to Dr. Toews, you’re in trouble if you go east (even more uproarious because we were traveling east to get to Jersey); anything that came out of my mouth or hers was instantly the funniest thing we had ever heard, endearing us more than ever to each other.
From that day on, the Princess and I have been inseparable. Apart from observing us in action, there is no way to adequately describe how intensely close our relationship is. Inside jokes are still concocted daily, from nearly every conversation – much to the chagrin of our friends. Our friendship is far from as shallow as it may seem, though. From the beginning, it’s been evident how much we have in common. We are so similar, the Princess and I, in personality and taste and sense of humor. But there are vital differences, and it is through the union of our differences and similarities that we are able to encourage and truly minister to one another. I pray for the Princess every night, and I thank the Lord for bringing her into my life – for overcoming the awful awkwardness that was our acquaintanceship, to be best friends – and for the help of an ordinary, $3.65 Walmart plunger, used by His holy hand to bring us together.
The First Night We Were "Friends"... Can You Sense The Awkwardness?
Sometimes I Have To Remind Her We Are Friends... "Katie, We're FRIENDS Now, Remember??" :)
