My best frenemy

Here's a little fictional story I made up that is inspired by events of recent history, but not necessarily based on them, nor on reality at all...

We met for the first time when we were 13.  We were complete opposites.  I was painfully shy and awkward, and she was bubbly and happy--an adorable girl with a beaming smile.

And how she could skate!  So soft, light, so effortless.  I envied her flexibility and her jumps, but what irked me the most was the way she seemed to be not thinking at all.  Everything just came so easy for her.

At our first competition together, I placed a distant second--she outscored me by nearly 30 points.  At first, I felt despair--how could I ever beat her, I lamented.  It's what everybody says--she's a genius!  And then gradually, I began to feel angry.  And I begin to hate her a little.  I told myself, one day, I WILL beat her.  I WILL be better than her!

And just when these thoughts reached a climax in my head, she came up to me, gold medal shining around her neck and beaming smile on her pretty face.  "Here, these are for you," she says, handing me a box of chocolates, wrapped in a beautiful ribbon.  "We should be friends," she says. "We're the only ones who are 13!"

"See you at the next competition!" she says as she turns and walks to join her equally sweet and beautiful older sister.

And as I stand there holding the chocolate, I am startled to find that I am smiling too. 

"What did she say?" my mom says, watching her go with a disapproving look in her eye.

"Nothing. She wants to be friends, that's all."

How could I ever have thought badly of her?

***

But soon after that, those jealous thoughts started to consume me again, and I forgot this little incident.

Because she had done so well on the junior circuit, she received a special exemption to compete on the senior circuit, and I watched in amazement and mounting envy as she won competition after competition, upsetting even the top senior skaters.

"We'll beat her one day, you'll see," my new coach Byron says.  "You'll be the best skater ever!"

And as the seasons pass, I start to believe his words.  We strategize to maximize my scoring potential--we avoid risks and play to my strengths.  And more importantly, I teach myself to be "expressive."  I memorize the movements of my choreographer, Daniel Wilton, I practice in front of the mirror, and I execute the motions perfectly in the competitions.

And the crowd and the judges love me.  Slowly, but steadily, I begin to win competition after competition.  She, my friend and rival, has become wildly uneven.  While I have settled on the elements of my programs, focusing on perfecting each part, she is constantly trying new things.  So she has become inconsistent, delivering moments of beautiful brilliance as well as complete meltdowns.

"She has no idea what she's doing," my mom scoffs.  "She doesn't understand what the judges are looking for at all."

She's almost making it too easy for me, I think.  She's not using her strengths--her beautiful positions, her lilting grace and elegance.  No, she has no idea what her strengths are.  That's the problem.  I laugh to myself.  She's totally clueless.  And yet, as I watch her land those nearly-impossible jumps and perform her exhausting and complex step sequences, I can't ignore a nagging feeling that she's a better skater than I'll ever be.  But that's not what the judges want, I think with a wry smile.

No, she has no idea how to compete, I think.  She skates too much from the heart, she doesn't know how to control her emotions.

***

There is little surprise when I win that big competition that comes only once every four years.  And it's a complete blowout--I've left her a distant second.  It's everything I've ever wanted.

I'm happy, but mostly I feel utterly exhausted.  She comes up to me backstage with another present--traditional sweets from her hometown.  "You skated so well! Congratulations!" she says, with her usual sweet smile.  She has been crying; she made mistakes and I bet she's mad at herself.  But there's not the slightest hint of resentment in her face.  She's genuinely happy for me.

And that kills me.  Can't she hate me even a little?

She turns and walks away to join her group of friends.  Her boyfriend puts his arm around her and pulls her into their boisterous, laughing circle.

I'm left alone with my mom and my manager.  And suddenly I wonder, was it all worth it?