Schnoz Story

I met Laura in art class when I was 15. She was a junior, I was a freshman. She was cool--funny, sarcastic, and put up with my immature ways. It was a perfect match--almost. Laura had a big-ass nose, and it was for this reason that we would never be together.

Instead we were friends. Since there was no threat of a relationship, I felt like I could talk to her without worrying about how I came off. She felt the same way, I think. We got along famously, and I treasured her friendship. Laura invited me to her prom her senior year, and I went, honored that she would ask me. The pictures would have been great if it hadn't been for her hawkish proboscis casting a shadow over the rest of her otherwise pretty face.

It was that same year that I also had doubts about our friendship for the first time. I was dating a girl--let's call her Condi--who I was really into. Laura hated her.

"She just seems like kind of a skank, but whatever," she would say, as if it were no big deal, and she was just looking out for my best interests. I laughed it off, not thinking it would really matter to Laura one way or another.

Finally, in a conversation with a mutal friend of Laura's and mine, she repeated how much Laura hated Condi.

"What's the big deal?" I wanted to know. "Who cares if she's a skank?"

"Obviously Laura cares, Zane. She's totally freakin' in love with you--opph!" The mutual friend clapped her hand over her mouth as if she couldn't believe what she had just said. "I didn't say that. Forget I said that. I don't know what I'm talking about."

Is there a word for the feeling when your mind is blown, but you sort of had the feeling in the back of your mind knew that you knew it was going to happen eventually? Imagine FDR after Pearl Harbor or the current president after Katrina.

What could I do? I pretended like I didn't know, but it got harder and harder not to notice the signs. She called me all the time. She was always inviting me to parties. She never dated anyone. When she left for college, I was sad to see her go, but kind of glad that I wouldn't have to deal with it anymore.

Fast-forward four years.

Laura and I went through a strange journey of being friends and not being friends: unreturned voice messages and e-mails, "Sorry, but . . . " party-invitation replies, but the occasional desire to hear her make fun of the same things I liked making fun of. She graduated, got a job, and sought out independence. And then the phone call came.

"Zane, I got a nose job!"

And it looked good. She looked good. All the barriers that stood in the way from me wanting to hit that through high school and college were gone. I wanted to hit it in a big way--but now it was all, y'know, weird.

Eventually we went through an uneventful series of drunk makeout sessions. I wondered if she felt awkward, being able to recognize my objectification so clearly through the experience of her post-rhinoplasty looks. I wondered if there was anything behind all this built-up sexual repression.

She fell in love with some guy pretty shortly after that. I never met him, and I'm pretty sure I never will. She told me the good news, gave a vague description, and the e-mails and the phone calls stopped coming.

At first I was like "Good for her!" I knew I could never really be anything more than what I had been to her already, and it seemed like moving on was a natural step for her. But my ego always enjoyed the e-mails and the phone calls, asking how I was doing, and when I was coming to see her, and did I think she should get a nosering? But there was something more than my ego involved. I did enjoy being around her. I liked talking to her, hearing about her life, her friends, her opinions. And now she's gone, and I've been replaced by a guy who--even though he never saw her with that repulsive Jew-nose--cares for her, appreciates her, and doesn't take her affection for granted. So long, Laura.