Sporting a white polo top, a short straight kelly green skirt, and white Keds, she hobbled up the small hill from the parking lot on crutches with the sun rising behind her.
That was twenty-four years ago that I met the little blonde who would become my best friend and one of my treasured Four Musketeers. The memory wasn't stored intentionally, but back then I remembered just about every living photograph I saw. Today, I'm glad the memory is so accessibly stored in my mind.
Looking in from the outside, we probably shouldn't be best friends. She's blonde, I'm brunette. She's sporty, I'm not. She's a joiner, I'm not. Even though she has two cats, she's a dog person. Cats are my fur peeps. They're great listeners, cute, don't stink, and a heck of lot cheaper than therapy. She follows recipes, I always change things up. She's fond of measuring, I'm not. She rocks it in the math department, I party with words. She checks in on Facebook, you'll more often hear me on Twitter.
And yet, twenty-four years later, whether via phone, Twitter, Facebook, an IM chat, or old school email, we never go long without hearing from the other.
A few years ago, I was more elated than usual to see her name in my email's inbox.
Exhaustion ran through every cell after having my second kidlet, particularly the days immediately following her dramatic entry.
And my husband's best friend was getting married in just a few short weeks, out of town. He was the Best Man. He had to be there.
Hesitation tried to hide in his eyes. I still couldn't drive, I had a preschooler, newborn, was severely anemic, and exhausted. It was his best friend, he needed to go. I told him to go.
Attempting to not sound desperate, I sent out emails looking for help. My inbox held my best friend's reply with only one question, "When do you want me to come?"
Friday, after work, she arrived. Donning chocolate capris, cream top with coffee tinted trimming at her neck, she walked in my front door, promptly taking my daughter into her arms to meet her for the first time.
Sunshine filled the sky as she drove us out to Mom's the next morning, to drop my son off for an overnight there. She again climbed behind the wheel to drive my newborn and I around to crafty destinations before we headed back home.
She easily transferred my slumbering daughter to her arms and sent me to my room to take a nap.
A nap? The concept was foreign to me. I took all of two twenty minute naps with my first baby in my arms, not because I was SuperMama, but simply because he woke up every other time I had tried. A nap? My baby girl was a few weeks old and I had yet to catch some shut eye during the sun's hours. A nap? Yes, I needed one.
Without a worry wandering in my head, I not only lay down, but quickly drifted into a dreamless solid sleep. Waking in a dark room, my nap had lasted much longer than twenty minutes. Climbing out of bed, I made my way out to check on my friend and my girl.
She was still contentedly in my best friend's arms, waiting quietly, patiently for me to feed her.
My friend's only question, "When do you want me to come?" Seven simple words were like a choir singing out, filling a room with both joy and peace in the same breath.
This week,
Write on Edge (formerly The Red Dress Club) prompted us to
"write about a memory of yourself WITH someone else."
And just for the record, I love my husband's best friend & his wife. And yes, they both invited me to join my husband at their wedding, but it was in a very hot area, with little shade and we knew I wouldn't have lasted. I'm glad Hubs could go, support his friend, and have a great time without worrying about me! :>
