The past belongs to everyone who was there. What do you remember? ADD YOUR STORY
your stories
Liz Subin was Liz Welch’s best friend growing up. Liz Welch wrote about their thirteenth summer in the book — the two spent it at the country club, inking the Doors logo on their Treetorns. Though they went to different high schools, they stayed close. This is Liz Subin’s story:
“Liz was perfect. Cast as Gretel in the “Sound of Music” portion of our middle school production, she was a perfect blond angel sitting center stage and waving to the adoring audience as she sang, “the sun has gone to bed and so must I…” I loved her immediately.”
“Her mother was beautiful. She made amazing birthday cakes; she was an actress on TV; she was glamorous. She was an equestrian. A golfer. She told me I was beautiful, even in my awkward pubescence. She took me with her to one of Liz’s auditions. She told me I, too, should have some head shots. I didn’t know what those were, but I wanted them.
Her father told me I had funny looking feet. He had a Japanese mood cube that was kept in the kitchen and we laughed as he acted out the various moods in an accent that was somewhere between Irish Bostonian and Japanese.
Diana sat on my lap for an entire movie with her fire red pigtails and glasses. I loved them all. And the blueberry bushes that lined the driveway at the great gray house on West Patent Road. We picked them and made homemade pies. Mrs. Welch told us how, but we did it ourselves. We never baked at our house.
We never had Easter baskets either. Liz didn’t know much about Judaism except that it meant no chocolate bunnies and jelly beans — and that was so sad to her that she became my Easter bunny, making me the most amazing baskets filled with all sorts of pastel-colored candies.
We played volleyball together. We listened to the Doors. We rode our bikes to the Village Green and ate turkey sandwiches on hard rolls with extra mayonnaise. We went to the Bedford Golf and Tennis Club where Mrs. Welch was somewhat of a legend. My family wasn’t allowed to join. I remember Amanda telling me I wasn’t missing anything, but I felt like I was.
I remember the day Mr. Welch died. I remember coming home to my own father and crying and crying. I remember the funeral with half the town looking at my best friend like she was a poor thing. She wasn’t.
I remember hearing that Mrs. Welch was sick. I remember the family moving out of the big gray house and into the pool house where we had once had a slumber party at which I was the only one who wanted to sleep.
I had switched from public to private high school and my life became about my new friends, my first love. I lost touch with most of the people I had known most of my life. Except Liz.
I remember the new house being built near the horse barn. I remember seeing Mrs. Welch with no hair.
I remember understanding that times had gotten hard for Liz. I thought I could make her feel better by taking her skiing in Colorado with my family. I thought her problems could be solved by a trip to the Rockies and a big bag of Doritos. I remember having to lie to my best friend to get her to come with us. We told her we had an extra free ticket, buy 6 get one free or some such deal. I think she believed me. I never knew what her life was really like. Not until I read the book. And then I cried.
How did I not know? Liz was my best friend. And I didn’t know. Then Mrs. Welch died. I remember that funeral as well. The air in the room all but gone. The four Welches, all alone but together. The pain in the faces of all the parents, including my own.
Somewhere, there was an offer made that Liz come live with us. How did she know that wouldn’t work? How did she know that my family too closely resembled the one she had lost and that she needed to do something different?
I went off to college; Liz went to Europe. We talked on the phone. I decided to join her in London and travel with her for the summer. I was still free to do whatever I wanted. Liz was working for creeps and piecing together her life and I was on a summer vacation. I remember Robbie Rayne giving me an envelope of cash and telling me to make sure Lizzie had fun. I remember the thrill of traveling on a shoestring, saving our pennies for extra chocolate bars or a first class train ticket. For me it was a game, I knew I could always call home and my dad would send me whatever I needed, even if disappointed by my freshman year grade point average. I was playing at life. Liz was living it.
Her story is an amazing one. Her family amazing.”
