SOAPBOX: Writer Kim Porter's high school best friend did nothing but break the rules

On KJZZ's SOAPBOX, The Show turns over the the mic to listeners. In the latest series, listeners tell their own true stories on the theme of Misbehaving. Tempe writer, performer and storyteller Kim Porter has always been a stickler for rules. So when her high school best friend did nothing but break the rules — you can imagine what happened.

SOAPBOX

On KJZZ's SOAPBOX, The Show turns over the the mic to listeners. Check out each season, with unique voices sharing about a single theme.

KIM PORTER: When I was 20, I got in a huge fight with my best friend Shawn when I found out he’d been hooking up with my boyfriend. So I vowed to never forgive him.

But a few weeks later Shawn’s mom, Norma, died.

I’d met Shawn in high school when we were riding the same school bus to a speech tournament. We’d pulled over at a gas station and Shawn had lowered the window and started making barnyard noises at a chubby lady pumping gas. Because I’m a stickler for proper decorum, I said, “You’re just making yourself look bad.” And because Shawn never met a boundary he didn’t test, he said, “Should we be best friends?”

We had a lot in common, but we differed fundamentally on the question of misbehaving. Shawn told me that as a Tauras, I was the most rule-obsessed sign of the zodiac. And as a Sagittarius he was the most lawless.

We were best friends until a few weeks ago.

Then his mom died.

I was torn. On the one hand I really wanted to do the right thing thereby proving to Shawn that I was a better person than him. On the other hand, proving I was a better person than him didn’t seem like the right thing under the circumstances.

I waffled for days until my mom showed me Norma’s obituary, which said there was to be a viewing that night.

“Go. It’s the right thing to do.”

By the time I arrived at the funeral home the family had already gone. It was just me and the funeral director.

He led me to a room and said, “And when you’re done, rest in chair.” And he pointed to a wingback chair next to a table with a bouquet and a book.

“Thanks.” I said.

Rest in chair? Does he think I’ll faint or something? Maybe he’s right. 

I braced myself, but when I saw Norma in her coffin I didn’t faint.

After I paid my respects I turned to go, but the man stopped me.

“Please. Rest in chair.”

“I’m okay. Thank you.”

“For the family. Please, rest in chair.”

“OK. Thanks.” I said, and I sat.

Why was this man making me rest in this chair. And how on earth is this for the family? Couldn’t he see I was fine? Does he know something I don’t know? Like are some people overcome with emotion as they’re driving away?

I tried to rest. But the man just stood there, head tilted, eyebrows raised, staring at me. Minutes passed. In desperation I tried to act rested. I stretched, sniffed the bouquet, and picked-up the book whose title, I noticed, read, “Registry”.

I heard it. Reg-is-ter. Rest-in-chair.

“Oh.” I said. “Register?”

“Yes. Please.”

The man was right, on the way home I was overcome with emotion, humiliation. You know who would really love this story? Shawn.

So I called him. And we were friends again. Until he hooked up with my new boyfriend.