It ends on a Friday afternoon. Our friendship, strong and supportive for three years, comes to a screeching halt.

We met not far from where we part. It was a beautiful summer day and our acquaintance was as natural and honest as it could ever be. We were both looking for something, wandering around in the relationship void hoping to bump into the right kind of ideas, notions, and aspirations. We weren't instant friends, but paced around each other for several days trying to get a bead on exactly what the other was all about.

Like all good supportive relationships, though, we reached that point where we throw our lots in together and, from that moment on, there is nothing sweeter.

Everyone has that one good friend, the one who reads your mind, understands your moods, respects your need for silence and space. We all have at least one friendship based on the solid foundation of deep and abiding acceptance.

This is how we are.

Every day we are constant companions, muy simpatico. We take care of each other, see to it that care is lavished and accepted. There is never a moment of let-down. Every morning, afternoon, and evening, when one of us needs the other, that need is answered with unswerving faithfulness and dedication to doing the best we can.

There are some close scrapes. There is that freak snowstorm just outside of Lordsburg that lasts for 250 miles. It whites out the road and turns the pavement to a sheet of ice all the way to Roswell, New Mexico. My hands are ringing wet the entire way, especially as we cross the mountains around Cloudcroft at 7,000 feet. There is never a flinch, though, never a doubt. Together we plow on through, shoulder to shoulder, slow and steady. Neither complainsor gives up or questions the actions or decisions of the other.

Then there was the afternoon a cement truck lost its brakes as it came into an intersection through a blind corner. By the time we realized what was happening, it was too late: if we stop, everyone behind us will pile up, 10 or 12 cars all stacked and stuck on that narrow road. So we go, knowing that my decision could well mean the end of us both. Again, there is no question, never a doubt, never a second of hesitation. We scoot out in front of that truck and manage to stay ahead until we can turn out safely. I guess that's why this whole thing hurts so damn much. We are tight! I still can't quite get my head around it.

Every friendship, be it an acquaintance at work or your spouse, carries a price. Maybe he or she picks their nose, or snores, or makes tacky jokes about other people. Maybe one of you has a quirky way of dressing or uncomfortable religious views. Regardless, we make things work. We find a way to get around those things that might otherwise set us against each other. It is the way of friends and lovers to overlook the superficial things and concentrate on the issues that really matter. At least that is what I always thought.
Some differences, though, cannot know concession. Some behaviors are so deeply rooted, so reflexive, so ingrained that no compromise is possible. I change my way of thinking. I act differently. I go out of my way to be different in an effort to make it work, but it is to no avail.

So I stand under that cloudless Arizona sky with my heart ripping out, feeling betrayed as my friend, unable to give just a little bit, goes away for good. True, this parting is my decision and I make no effort to hide it. True, I can stop in my tracks, decide that the compromises are worth it. Doing so will preserve the bond between us, will assure that we are together. Just like my friend is unwilling to compromise, however, I feel that I had reached the end of my rope.

Our differences are as far as left from right. My friend believes that more is better and that conspicuous consumption is the American way. My friend believes that conservation has no place in our cultural lexicon. I, on the other hand, try to argue that what we need is a new approach to the way we use up our world, that we owe it to ourselves and our children to do things differently and to preserve what we have, to do something to end the blatant act of arrogant wealth.

Alas, the bridge is too far to span and I say goodbye. As a strange man drives you away, my beautiful four-wheel-drive F-150 SuperCrew, I know that I will never again feel that bond with another, will never have that sense of oneness. I feel lousy, like a cheater, and it is awful. I climb behind the wheel of my new two-door Honda Civic and wonder, as so many of us do when we say farewell to an old friend, if I will ever be the same again.