The two Donnas

 

Throughout my childhood, my mother and father were friendly with a couple, Roger and Ellen. Eventually the two couples would divorce, but up until my early adolescence, they spent a lot of time together.

They had a daughter, who usually stayed with us when the couples went out together under my grandmother’s watchful eye. We were Donna-Lane and Donna Ellen.

Donna Ellen was a year older, a great student, and a fantastic golfer, placing well in the Massachusetts Junior Golf Championships. She was bigger than I was, and I inherited her hand-me-downs. No shame in that. She had beautiful clothes. In fact, I encouraged her to eat and grow.

We were friends, playing games, sharing books, chatting as two girls will.

At one point, Ellen said she sent Donna Ellen away because they had a falling out. My mother thought perhaps Donna had been pregnant but wouldn’t have dreamed of asking. During those years, any information like that would never have been shared.

After high school graduation Donna moved to Chicago. 

I went to university, left, moved to Germany, moved back and finished university. 

Donna moved back from Chicago and she and her mother opened a secretarial service together. I was a bit jealous that she could buy herself a nice new car although I had an older model I bought from my earnings as a cub reporter and then one my mother bought me. It wasn’t that I loved Donna Ellen’s car, I would have loved to have the choice not to buy one if I wanted.

Ellen had been ambitious and worked when women didn’t. She built a beautiful home in Winchester. I loved her light pink refrigerator which had three parts mounted on a wall.

My mother and I would visit with Ellen and Donna. Ellen helped me make a beautiful suit. We would talk and laugh together, the four of us.

Donna Ellen developed diabetes. Her business flourished. I graduated from university and worked at a market research firm.

I sat behind Roger and Ellen at Donna Ellen’s funeral. Ellen had called to say Donna Ellen had not rallied from her second diabetic coma. Her death brought the couple together several years after their divorce. By that time Llara had been born and I couldn’t imagine the pain at losing their only child. I didn’t expect a friend who was 33 would die.

My mother and Ellen decided to move into together. It led to a final falling out, not that I was surprised. Both women were alpha females with a vocabulary that did not include the word compromise.

When my dad died, I called Roger to tell him. He needed to hang up and call me back when he was in control of his emotions. They had been soul friends. We stayed in touch through letters. He was happily remarried living in the west. Eventually I lost track of both Roger and Ellen.

I am aware that I have been given 55 more years of life than Donna Ellen. I wish she had had more. I wish we had had more.