In Japanese folklore, the invisible “red thread of fate” ties two soulmates together throughout their lives, even if their paths have yet to cross. When I was 16 years old, I first heard Taylor Swift’s “invisible string,” a song exploring this very idea. Although the song’s lyrics and the Japanese theory itself seemingly allude to lovers, I feel that they perfectly describe my relationships with my three best friends. I feel that we were predestined for our bond all along.
Time, curious time/
Gave me no compasses, gave me no signs/
Were there clues I didn’t see?/
And isn’t it just so pretty to think/
All along there was some/
Invisible string/
Tying you to me?
I remember everyone’s birthday, no matter how long ago I met them. I remember everyone’s middle names and the names of everyone’s childhood pets. But I cannot remember a time when I didn’t know Alison.
Our paths first crossed early in life, during the days of sock puppets and the ABCs. Our parents were friends and our siblings were friends and we were friends. Alison and I dressed up as princesses for each other’s birthday parties and hid from men in suits (they were spies).
We played in parks, dissected the Percy Jackson books and snuck extra donut holes from the concession table at church. Well, she snuck them. I was too scared to steal donut holes in God’s house, especially with my parents there. The first time I ever used a flat iron was on Alison’s hair. I wonder if she knows that, since I sure didn’t tell her in the moment. Once, Alison and I picked up an iPad mid-playdate to film our Barbies’ incredibly convoluted backstories and I made my first movie.
When we were 9, Alison moved to my school. I loved being school friends — she had loved her old ones. We were assigned different teachers and we made different friends. Since the day I met her, there has never been a time when Alison and I weren’t friends. But this was where our separation began.
After spending a concerning amount of time on VSCO at 14 years old, I became convinced that high school would be the best years of my life. But as much as I loved the 6 a.m. wake-ups and spending a considerable amount of time in close quarters with boys who would laugh during my women’s rights presentations; something about high school just wasn’t my favorite. I had individual friends, but none of them were friends with each other, so I couldn’t even do any of the cool stuff high schoolers were supposed to do — at least, according to VSCO. So when 16-year-old me heard Alison mention she was going to the library to crunch for the Advanced Placement Government exam, I asked her if I could tag along — being study buddies could be fun. Following an embarrassing walk back to the car after we realized the library was closed, I asked Alison to hang out that weekend. We have not been apart since.
Alison and I dress up for each other’s birthday parties. We play volleyball in the park and walk on the trail in the summertime. I go to her house to do her hair for weddings and parties — I’m handy with a flat iron now. On my last birthday, she bought me the script for Greta Gerwig’s “Barbie,” and we always send each other edits of the Percy Jackson show. Alison took up the space in my life that the friend group I never had didn’t.
We’ve never not been friends. We’ve always been tied. But Alison came back when I needed her most. I think I did the same for her.
Time, wondrous time/
Gave me the blues and then purple pink skies/
And it’s cool, baby, with me/
And isn’t it just so pretty to think/
All along there was some/
Invisible string/
Tying you to me?
I don’t know why I used to have a weird thing about my yearbooks, but I did. If I was bored at nighttime or in the summer, I would pull them off the shelves and flip through the pages, eyeing the pictures of school events and reading the signatures my elementary school classmates had left me the year before. But I would always end up back at the one page I dreamed of being in — the school district art show. A small dream in retrospect, but my dream nonetheless. I wanted to be just like the blonde girl in the picture — smiling proudly next to my art.
I didn’t meet that girl or know her name until three years later. I want to personally thank random public school seating charts for the good they’ve done in my life. After an assignment that included listing our favorite movie, I noted that the girl next to me had put “Soul Surfer” on her page. That was so much cooler than what I had put down — which was nothing since I didn’t have someone to help me navigate my indecisive nature yet.
I don’t remember how or when it happened, but within a few months, I had a best friend. Someone to watch old Disney movies with or to exchange favorite music videos with on our parents’ computers. I first watched “Pitch Perfect” at Daisy’s house; that still feels like my initiation into teenhood.
Daisy had a scrapbook in her room in middle school, each page filled with a different idea for her bucket list. I don’t know if I ever considered that I could have real adventures until I met her.
Early high school was the worst time of my life to date, but I had Daisy. A global pandemic hit and I lost contact with half of my friends, but I had Daisy. I left high school, left home and left about 80 old versions of myself behind, but I have Daisy.
When I ask my mom who her best friend is, there is a moment of hesitation. She has a best friend for a few different contexts — one from back home, a couple from the town she lives in and probably one or two from periods in her life I don’t know much about. My dad, however, does not hesitate at all. He tells me his best friend’s name almost the second he hears the question. I never hesitate when I am asked who my best friend is, either.
I often joke that Daisy is like my wife. I think what I mean by this is that I’m committed to her wholeheartedly. No matter where she goes or which version of herself she’s currently living, I know I will love her. In a world where I often have to take time alone to recharge and don’t feel like myself after too much time with people, Daisy is my reset button. I come away from a talk with her feeling more myself than I did when I was alone.
I made it into the art show for a picture I had drawn of a chameleon. I was excited about this because I love “Tangled,” which I watched curled up with a bowl of popcorn on Daisy’s living room couch. I send Daisy any videos I see from the “Pitch Perfect” series and I keep journals filled with the memories from adventures I never would have had if it weren’t for the inspiration I got from her. No matter how far apart we are (and it’s usually far), I’m tied to my best friend.
Gold was the color of the leaves/
When I showed you around Centennial Park/
Hell was the journey but it brought me heaven
Considering I met most of my favorite people before my tenth birthday, I can’t say I was expecting to have my life changed in college. At least not by a person. Obviously, I wanted to make friends and I’m glad I did, but I didn’t think I would find one of my best friends here, of all places.
My second semester at the University of Michigan, I met April. After one night of swapping stories with a group of mutual friends, it was clear that our connection was unusual. We grew up one town over from one another and both have roommate group chats with the same oddly specific name. We both own Lego keychains of Spider-Ham from “Spiderman: Into the Spiderverse” and are dog people who would only get a cat under the circumstance that it was black and we could name it “Salem” like the cat from “Sabrina the Teenage Witch.”
By the time I’d known April for a year, I could comfortably call her one of my best friends. She understands the niche scenario I’m about to explain before I even open my mouth. College is a lonely time — April always knows how to make it less that way.
Sometimes, I’ll tell April something I want to do, and she will tell me “do it.” Like in my situation with Daisy, “doing” the thing will usually have never occurred to me. I think half the reason I do anything at all is because I have people to make proud. I have explored new places, joined new groups and become a better version of myself because April gets me out of my comfort zone. Conversely, when she accepts that a situation is going to be OK, or that she doesn’t need to keep everyone happy all of the time, I know I have gotten her out of hers.
April and I truly put the “invisible” in “invisible string.” I didn’t know she was just miles away my entire childhood, but we came together when it was time.
And isn’t it just so pretty to think/
All along there was some/
Invisible string/
Tying you to me?
TV Beat Editor Olivia Tarling can be reached at tarling@umich.edu.