Inspired by my 20-minute writing exercise today around the theme: “Detail a situation where you felt betrayed.”

Betrayal: the sense of being harmed by the intentional actions or omissions of a trusted person.

Luckily betrayal isn’t an emotion I’ve felt often.  In fact, to start this writing exercise, I even resorted to looking it up to ensure I was precise about the nuances of betrayal.  A very limited handful of situations came to mind.

I had survived my Freshman year of high school: bad haircut, awkward laughter and all.  I had made a really solid group of girlfriends who bonded over our innocence but also our eagerness to laugh and have fun.  Instead of going to the riskier parties and social gatherings, we would often congregate in my basement where we had access to a pool table, a TV with a DVD player and plenty of privacy to giggle about boys and school and life.  We also had access to the basement refrigerator.  Most teens would have raided that fridge (or the unfinished part of the basement) looking for alcohol, but my group of girlfriends (whom others called “The Mickey Mouse Club,” and we, frankly, embraced that) were eager to dig into the strange (and mostly awful) flavours of Diet Rite soda.  We would play drinking card games in the basement, still trying to learn the ropes of the popular high school hobbies, but instead of taking a drink of alcohol, the “punishment” was to take a pull from the can of Diet Rite.  With flavours like Kiwi Strawberry, Tangerine, White Grape and Red Raspberry all perfectly blended to taste as artificial as possible, it was a worthy punishment.

We bonded over the typical growing up things: boys and crushes and trying out for the pom pom or cheer-leading squad; parents and their rules; teachers and grades; extracurriculars… But it felt good, really good, to have this little girl gang who mostly saw the world and life as a teenager in our small town, pretty much the same.  We did everything together, the 5 of us…  sleepovers and high school sports games and even attending our first homecoming dance.

I had been especially drawn to one of these girls, Shelley, who was “new,” having attended grade school elsewhere.  She was hilarious and charismatic.  Bold and sassy, more prone to risk-taking than I was.  But she was also kind and her whole face would turn bright red anytime she was embarrassed.  Shelley and I got very close during Freshman year and when he eagerness to climb the social ladder at our small high school kicked in, I was initially very confused.

I watched as she prioritized spending time with others over our Mickey Mouse Club girl-gang.  I figured sooner or later she would bounce back – likely after she realized that others, frankly, weren’t as fun as we were.  But the trend continued.  Essentially she had traded in her mouse ears for cool girl status.  She had a new boyfriend and had decided to forgo the Diet Rite and basement parties for the “real thing,” joining her new boyfriend and the popular crowd for parties with kegs of beer.

She even owned her behaviour at one point, likely when I was more direct with her and pushing her to explain why she didn’t want to be friends with us anymore.  She basically explained the laws of social hierarchy to me and admitted that her new boyfriend and having an invitation to the parties with the popular crowd were more important to her, but that she didn’t have enough social clout or currency to pull the rest of us along.  She had raised her status – likely through her willingness to be a bit more risky, having been exposed to that scene through her two older sisters, but she couldn’t get us in.  And so she was leaving us behind.

I was hurt and mad.  I felt betrayed.  We were good enough when there wasn’t something better?  Is that how it worked?  It made me more cautious about friendships and trust.

Mostly life, and high school, moved on.  But I do remember one day after school, several months after Shelley had dumped us, she was somehow interested in coming over to my house.  I was guarded but gave her a small crack, just a sliver of time and attention – unsure where it would lead.  (As it turned out, this was a one-time thing and not evocative of any change-of-heart regarding her priorities or loyalty.) 

I remember my dad coming home from work that evening and being surprised to see Shelley back in our kitchen.  While my dad and I didn’t have a lot of emotional heart-to-heart conversations about navigating life and relationships as a teenage girl, he had clearly picked up on the dynamics and the hurt Shelley’s choices had caused me.

“Hey Gary!  Did you miss me?” Shelley said in her cheery, light voice.

“Oh, hey!” my dad said, “Were you gone?”

I’ll never forget that moment.  With one quick, off-hand remark, my dad had essentially minimized Shelley and her betrayal to where it belonged.  He had made her feel like she was so unimportant, he hadn’t even really noticed that she had been away. 

And I loved him for that.