I had a friend growing up that was a child of my parents’ friends. We’d see each other at church and slept at each other’s houses, went to the mall together. Friends. Let’s call her Karla.

I also had a friend that I knew from grammar school. I met up with him in college and we dated for a stint. The dating end of things fizzled out but the friendship remained. Except at the time, I still had feelings for him. Let’s call him Ben.

One night I went out with two girlfriends, Southern Mom and Karla, to see Big Sun and I invited Ben to join us. We arrived at Waldo’s and Ben was there with his brother. He spent the better part of the evening ignoring me. I ignored him right back. Until.

I noticed that Karla was talking to Ben. She rejoined SM and I and I asked her to also ignore Ben. It was a long evening. Karla continued to flit between SM and me and Ben. Ben’s brother left Waldo’s without Ben.

It came time to leave and Karla announced that she was driving Ben home. I went crazy. I saw red and can only relate what happened from that point on from an outsider’s perspective.

I insisted that she need not bother herself with Ben’s problems; that I lived close to his house and if he needed a ride, I’d give him one (he’d have bored holes in his head before getting in a car with me); that he could call a cab; that though we were no longer dating, I still had feelings for him (which she knew beforehand) and her protestations that she was doing this “just as a friend” didn’t ring true–surely our friendship was more valuable than her and Ben’s, right?

She insisted. Ben wouldn’t look at me or speak to me. Rage was all I felt. There were many details that I recall from that night. In the end, I drove like a madwoman dropping SM off at her car and then literally running every red light to get to Ben’s. I beat them to his house and waited in the car. I don’t know what I expected to do, other than be sure all she did was drop him off and drive away.

They pulled up and Karla kept the car running and her lights on. Minutes, long minutes, passed. No activity. I didn’t know whether they even knew I was sitting in my darkened car. After maybe five minutes, I got out of my car. Karla rolled down her window and said to me, “Nola, it’s not what you think; we are just friends,” to which I replied, “Karla, leave. You dropped him off, now leave.”

Ben got out of her car and Karla began to cry. I repeated, “Leave. Just go.” I followed Ben inside his house.

He very glibly told me that it was, in fact, just what I thought it was. And that I had foiled his evening and it was time for me to go. I left. With a broken heart that took years to heal.

The next day, Karla called me and meekly said, “Hey.” I boldly told her that I was too upset to talk to her and that she needed to give me time.

Two days later, she called again. I told her I was still too pissed to talk to her. She insisted on telling me it wasn’t what I thought it was. I stopped her protestations and said, “Karla, I’m done. Will I be friends with you? Yes. If you ever need me, I’ll be there. But I no longer trust you. And I can never again see myself enjoying a beer with you and introducing you to some guy I’m seeing. You are forcing me to decide today where we go. And if you need to know today, then where we go is to casual acquaintances.”

It was painful and I was hurtful. But I meant all of it and more. Frankly, I’d be just as happy never to see her lying face ever again. And to date, I have not seen her.

My parents have stayed friends with Karla’s parents. And over the years, I have had to endure hearing how Karla got married and had kids and is doing well schlepping wares on E-bay. I. Don’t. Care. My poor mother cannot get this message! One time I finally told her, “Mom, I don’t like Karla; we are not friends; she put the moves on a guy I was into right in front of my face once; I don’t need to hear about her life. I don’t care.”

But damned if I still don’t hear about her. I’ve heard that she’s cheated on her husband (big shocker there!), and that she’s living in Arizona.

Today, my mother forwarded an e-mail from Karla’s father, the “year in review” e-mail that are prevalent this time of year. Karla’s still married and living in Arizona raising her children. I still don’t care.

But deep down, well, actually, not so deep, I must care. Because when I read about her life, I get all pissed inside and my hands shake a little when I write about that evening some 15 years ago. I don’t know what gets me worked up. I can think about Karla and not feel a thing. But that night! I remember every last detail like it was last week. And the letter that Ben send me later that week with green electrical tape sealing it closed apologizing but rejecting me all the same.

Karla and one of the hardest nights in my young life are forever intertwined. It’s funny how a broken heart will heal but never completely be scar-free.