The Argonauts were discussing The Unlikely
Pilgrimage of Harold Frye by Rachel Joyce.
One of the supporting impetuses of the pilgrimage was a story someone
told Harold. What’s interesting, we find
out in the end, is that the story was made up.
This story reminded me of my own. I had a friend, whom I wanted to
encourage. I made up a story of a friend
in similar circumstances. It had a happy
ending.
Well, my friend whom I was trying to encouraged,
backed away from me. She scolded me for
being a gossip. She said that I shouldn't be talking about people behind their backs.
And if this is what I did to friends, then she didn't want to be
considered a friend of mine. Then she
turned around and walked out of my life.
Paralyzed in shock, I think would describe my
reaction. I didn't dare call her back to
explain that I made the entire story up.
What would she have called me then?
