A Shoulder to Cry On
My mobile lay there on the coffee table in an odd kind of silence. Every few minutes, the screen would light up and the familiar ringtone would chime through the flat, but all you could hear in my living room was the quiet hum of the evening. I wasnt in a hurry to answer.
After a relentless day at the office, Id been desperate for a little peace. I ran myself a hot bath, poured in some lavender-scented bubbles, set the lights down low, and finally slipped beneath a blanket of foam. The sound of the water, the half-light, the soothing smell it was exactly the cocoon Id craved, especially after a day that left me with shoulders up round my ears.
And yet the phone kept calling. On the screen, Claires name flashed again and again not that I saw any of it, lost as I was behind the bathroom door. She must have been desperate to talk; her calls stacked up one after another during that hour Id carved out for myself. All I wanted was to close my eyes and soak away the tension to simply exist for a little, with no one needing anything from me.
When I finally did emerge, wrapping myself in my fluffiest bathrobe, the phone caught my eye straight away: over twenty missed calls from Claire. I hadnt even had a moment to process, when it rang again as if she could sense that Id finally returned to earth.
But before picking up, I started scanning through her flurry of messages almost as many as her calls. Lizzie, where are you? read the first. Please, I have to talk to you, its urgent! The tone ramped up from worried to panicking: Is everything alright?, PLEASE call me, its important!
What now? I muttered, running a hand across my brow. My voice sounded brittle, like I was braced for impact. Thats how these conversations always felt. Claire had the sort of personality that could wring drama out of a slightly bruised apple, let alone the tangled mess of her marriage and divorce. Be it a miserable day at work, a spat with her boyfriend, even just a rude cashier, shed find some reason to offload. And lately, Id been the one picking up the pieces over and over.
Thered been a time when Id worn my friends tears as a badge of honour, offering comfort through the worst of her separation from Tom. She moved in with me when things got ugly, and at first, it felt like the right thing to do. I was there for her in all the ways friends are supposed to be: a listening ear, a comforting cup of tea, a safe place. But weeks became months, and soon I realised my own life had ground to a halt. Evenings to myself became a fantasy. I forgot what it was like to sit quietly with a book, take a walk, or see anyone else. More and more, I felt like a prop in someone elses drama.
Every night, Claire would be waiting for me, perched on the sofa with a look of such intense expectation that I barely had a chance to put my bag down. The script changed little: I couldnt even pop to the shop without him questioning me, shed exclaim, indignant. Five minutes late and hed stage a row. Her voice swung from angry, to outraged, to a whisper quivering with pain. It was all so familiar to me I could mouth the words along with her. If I ever tried to cut in or God forbid change the subject, shed spiral No one understands, no one cares!
I did everything for him, shed weep into her cup. Cooked, cleaned, stood by him! But he betrayed me. How could I ever trust another man?
Id quietly refill her tea and repeat the usual lines: Maybe its for the best, Claire. Now you can start again, find someone who appreciates you. I didnt know if she actually heard me. She seemed determined to stay trapped in a reel of hurt and indignation.
After a while, I stopped feeling like I was helping. It grew exhausting to always be the shoulder to cry on, never having time to think of myself. My dreams, my hobbies, my little moments of happiness theyd been shelved.
Eventually, a couple weeks ago, Claire moved back into her own place. I watched her load her bags into the black cab from my lounge window, feeling something heavy slip from my shoulders. That night was the first truly restful sleep Id had in months.
Suddenly, I could do what I wanted again a trip to the pictures, catching up with other friends, sprawling on the sofa with a book with no interruptions. I even started rewatching an old TV series Id been too busy to fit in. Life began tiptoeing back to normal, and for the first time in half a year, I felt like myself again.
But now, today, here it all was again. The relentless calls and messages, Claires name taking over my notifications. Lizzie, please call me, its urgent! her texts shrilled. I couldnt even figure out how I felt: worry, yes, that something actually had happened. But also a crabbing resentment Id barely started reclaiming my life, and already she was demanding my attention again.
I knew how it would go. Whatever was urgent would probably be a long retelling of some fresh row or heartache, with all the same emotions, and just new details. Claire never once asked if I was alright, or if I had other plans it was always her urgent, her important, her world.
Taking a deep breath, I told myself I was allowed a quiet evening. Perhaps tonight, I could simply ignore her, give myself a little time.
I switched my phone off with a deliberate, almost guilty flick, and tucked it away in the bedside table. Maybe shed just assume my battery died. Who could possibly want to chat at this hour, anyway?
And so, for the first time in ages, my flat was tranquil. I made myself a mug of cocoa, wrapped up in a warm blanket, and flicked on my forgotten TV show. No anxious glances at the door. No rehearsing soothing words. For once, I simply existed.
I slept soundly for the first time in months. I woke up refreshed, almost cheerful it was as if the real Lizzie had come back after a long holiday.
As I reached for my phone the next morning, it vibrated back to life and promptly exploded with new notifications. Claires worried texts poured in: Where are you? Why arent you answering?, You dont care about me, do you? Her messages grew more and more desperate and, towards the end, rather petulant: Fine, if you cant be bothered, Ill find someone else!
I sighed. Rationally, I knew that perhaps something had happened, but the truth is, I just felt tired. The cycle seemed endless.
Still, better to get it over with. I pressed her number, almost by muscle memory, and she answered instantly, voice high with exasperation.
Why didnt you answer last night? Did you have another sleepless night? I tried to keep my tone light.
I have AMAZING news! she blurted, huffing. But you didnt pick up whats with ignoring me?
I closed my eyes, counting silently to five. Really? My phone died, Claire. I was in the office late and just look, I didnt ignore you.
Oh, sure, she shot back, sharp. Im just your trivial little friend. Who cares whats happening with me?
Her words stung in that way unfair accusations do. For once, I snapped. I am allowed my own life, Claire. Do you even hear yourself? I was firm, though inside I felt a pang of guilt. Whats happened now?
She hesitated, her tone finally softening. Sorry, Im just its really important. I couldnt wait to share it with you.
Right. Here we go. I braced myself.
I wanted to tell you my news, but now I wonder if I should, Claire pouted, waiting for the fireworks of excitement she apparently expected.
I looked at the time clients to meet, a hair appointment, and plans with Jane, who Id barely seen in ages. I couldnt spend the whole day spinning in Claires melodrama.
For goodness sake, just tell me, I said, maybe a bit too briskly. I have a lot on today and I cant be on the phone all morning.
There was a heartbeat of silence. Finally, with theatrical weight, Claire said, Im getting married.
I was dumbstruck. Married? To whom? Shed spent six months sobbing on my sofa about worthless men and swearing off relationships. Had she even met someone new?
To whom, exactly? I managed.
She sounded genuinely thrilled. You know Tom. Weve been seeing each other again, and decided to start fresh. Arent you happy for us?
I spluttered a laugh of disbelief, sure she was winding me up. You cant be serious?
I am, she said, deadly earnest. I love him so much, I can forgive anything.
A cold weight settled in my stomach. She wasnt joking at all. She truly believed this was a happy ending, that everything would be different this time.
Wonderful, I replied with forced cheer. Just dont expect me to play agony aunt the next time he upsets you. Congratulations, though.
I didnt wait for her reply, just ended the call with trembling hands.
Were the past six months meaningless? One call from him, and shes back in the same cycle. All those nights spent comforting her, gone in a blink. Why am I always the life raft?
Standing in front of the mirror, I caught my own tired reflection and saw, oddly, a flicker of resolve. I wasnt angry with Claire, at least not really. I was angry at the situation, at how my life kept orbiting someone elses storms.
Not anymore, I told myself firmly. Let Claire make her choices I wasnt going to be the shoulder she weeps into next time.
The shoulder has worn thin, I thought, and almost smiled. If she insists on chasing drama, shell be doing it alone. Not on my time.
