I hope Geri's retirement doesn't work

 I don't have friends. I have acquaintances...colleagues...co-workers...companions. I am surrounded by sweet, supportive, loving people. I trust none of them. I refuse to venture into deeper relationships for fear of drowning...preferring to stick to the shallows because, unfortunately, I AM shallow. My smiles and small talk are all a pretense. Fake. I am a fraud. And I know, ultimately, you will eventually discover that so I only let you peek behind the curtain on rare occasions. Fair warning: I will eventually sabotage any and all relationships that manage to establish a tenuous hold. AND...if I am clear-headed enough to see that a potential friendship is developing, I will slap it down with a sarcastic Spinebuster to wrestle that blossoming relationship into submission. Let's not delve into the psychology of my intimacy issues right now. My marriage of 32 years proves only that Brad is a masochist. Genetically, my daughters HAVE to love me but moved to the opposite coast because it's much easier to love me from afar. Joan has stubbornly remained in the picture for three decades only because she retains the fluid flexibility of a rubber band and exhibits the foolish and fearless qualities of that bird that darts in and out of a river hippopotamus' mouth. 

And then there's Geri. 

Conflict and confrontations are the coffin nails of all of my relationships.

Except for my relationship with Geri.

We have screamed, scratched, spat, insulted, injured, demeaned, and bullied each other for nearly twenty years. Newly-introduced team members have sat, horrified, as we'd recreate scenes from Godzilla versus Kong in front of them. My daughters, as young children, sat nonplussed, strapped in the car as Geri and I battled in the front seat about directions and restaurant choices ("I don't care where we eat, Amy," Geri said exasperatedly as we debated and deliberated each passing choice on the road. I settled on Red Lobster. "You KNOW I don't like seafood," she seethed.). Geri's brother once thrust himself sacrificially between us as we flung f-words at one another like grenades. Meanwhile, Sydney Lynn sat on the floor of our vacation rental and patiently duct-taped her battered boogie board back together, oblivious to the war waging around her.

 I cannot explain it. This sick, mutually co-dependent, relationship of ours. Where we can hurt each other but, God forbid, anyone else even THINK about being mean to one of us...and the other one will POUNCE, Unleashed fury. We are protective feral wolves if anyone else threatens the other. 

Expectations make me nervous. I will NEVER live up to them. But in my relationship with Geri, it was always clear that one of us was always gearing up to say or do something stupid; one of us would inevitably suffer from foot-in-the-mouthitis. Our ideologies never matched up...we never agreed...we were always incensed and irritated with one another. There were no apologies offered. No forgiveness bestowed. We fumed. Pouted. Ranted. Stewed. And then got over it. 

The foundation of our relationship is failure. Built upon the fact that we were going to let one another down, again and again. And each time, we'd haul one another up out of the mud (that we'd been brutally pushed into by the other) and start fresh.

And now we are single-digit days away from Geri's retirement. "We haven't had a good storm-out in awhile," my fellow team member and my-trying-to-keep-her-at-arm's-distance-but-failing friend Katriel observed, referencing the hundreds of times that I've seemingly reached my limit...standing up dramatically, kicking back my chair, and stomping angrily out the classroom door during a 4th grade meeting. I teared up, nodding nostalgically. "I guess those days are gone," I said, voice trembling. 

As we met to play cards in Geri's classroom during lunch this past week, we discussed our constantly revised schedule leading to the end of the school year. Geri, shockingly disagreeing with one of my intelligently-thought-out and reasonable suggestions, snapped at me with a ridiculous rebuttal. I glared at her over my cards. "Amy," Geri snarled, "Stop being so sensitive." I threw down my hand...abruptly stood up, kicking back my chair...and stormed out as Katriel golf-clapped my performance. 

Screen fade.

And...that's a wrap.