Amelioration

I had a friend. I thought I had a friend. My first real Florida friend, a Cuban immigrant with all the stereotypical warmth and exuberance you can imagine.

She sews like a madwoman, cranking out amazing creations from found items, left-overs and yard sale salvaged gems. I can’t believe the things she comes up with. Her creativity astounds me. I asked her to make me a bunch of bags and gave her my own material to use for it, saying I’d always meant to use the fabric but she could do it better than me.

We chatted online and e-mailed all the time. She got busy on my purses and said she loved my fabric. I told her she could keep anything that was left over since I knew I’d never use it. We double-dated, and she gave me all my amazing bags. I was overwhelmed. They were so perfect and stylish—later everyone would compliment me and ask where I’d gotten my bags. I loved them.

She made one veiled reference to having a hard time asking for money. I wasn’t sure what to do, so I waited for her to come up with a price. She never did. And we never really spoke again.

I dragged her up and down St. Augustine with bags full of her sample purses to consign all over the city. I even got her her first job doing while doing this. I felt it was only fair I repay her this way since she’d done me such a favor.

Then things unraveled.

Poof. She was gone. No more email chats no more talk of fabric no more plans to get together. She was just gone from my life as quickly as she’d entered. I thought we’d had something special. We were both sewers and crafters that were underemployed, and we were both new to the area and got along so well. But then she disappeared.

I’ve always wondered. Was it the money? Did she get busy with her job and not have time to sew and write? Did she blame me that the first job I got her didn’t work out? Did her consignments not sell? Was it all that work she did for me, and she felt unreciprocated?

I don’t know. I’ve never been able to talk to her enough since that halcyon time and find out what turned her off. When she first quit talking to me, I bought her four yards of cool looking fabric as a peace offering. It never got through to her somehow.

I just had to pick up a few of her purses at my friend’s store where she consigned. The purses didn’t sell, and my friend was ready to use the space. I took the opportunity to comb through a very limited selection of my mountain of fabric and pull together some colors, patterns, and textures of material I think she can use. I called her husband to arrange another possible double-date and a definite drop-off, telling him about the purses but not about the fabric.

I don’t know whether we’ll ever resume the friendship I thought we had, but giving her what I can will give me the sense of closure I need. I’ll know I finally did my part and that I gave her my best. The rest will be up to her to piece together.