I received a lovely letter from a woman who was my best friend all through school. We met for the first time in the first grade in Sister Josita's classroom and have been friends ever since. She sent the most beautiful message last week, offering her condolences to me. It was a very personal message. One that touched me in a way that only a person who has known me practically my whole life could send.
We have not spoken in a very long time, have not seen each other as she only comes home once a year. "Maureen" lives all the way across the country from me and, with five children of her own, does not get to travel East very often. It's been a while.
While we live different lives now, while we don't know everything that is going on with the other, I still feel just as close to her as I did when I was a young girl. Maureen was a solid friend, dependable, and the kind of friend you want around because she says it like it is. I love that about her.
We spent hours and hours either in her room, or in mine, laying around and sharing heartbreaks, nervousness, teenage angst. We talked about what we were afraid of and what we wished for. We talked about things we were unsure of, things we feared and things we loved. We grew up together.
She had a family I always wished I was part of. Her five brothers were overwhelming to an only child, but I enjoyed their brotherly attention when I got it. I longed for a sibling growing up and they fulfilled that role for me occasionally. When Maureen and I were together they tormented and teased us within an inch of our lives. They chased us and plotted to spoil our fun every chance they got. We loved every blessed minute of it.
After I read her letter I recalled one especially fun summer we had in particular. We discovered boys...or rather discovered we were interested in them. We set out to attract one boy in particular and schemed to find ways to run into him around the neighborhood. We primped and preened and practiced smiles and walks all for a boy who, as I recall, didn't know we even existed. Finally we set up a lemonade stand hoping to entice the attentions of this legendary neighborhood heartthrob who was named "Freddie". We crashed and burned...he never even walked past us.
Many, many years later Freddie would have a hand in my husband and I meeting each other. In fact if not for Freddie my husband and I may never have met in the first place. The night I met my husband I was to have met Freddie. All of these years later he finally realized that I indeed existed and wanted very much to see me. Through a series of miscues he was unable to meet me that night. Later, when I discovered why he wasn't there, it didn't matter. I met my husband to be. The rest is history.
This particular memory always makes me think of Maureen and our friendship. This week, more than ever, I wish I could just ride my bike a block down the street and ring her doorbell. It makes me wish we could go up to her room and lay on the yellow carpet that was next to her bed and stare up at the ceiling while we talked. It makes me wish she was here so I could tell her some things, things that have happened, things I wish for, things I'm afraid of and things I love. Things that have happened since we grew up and grew apart.
Grew up.
Indeed.
