Something old

Last night I caught up with my very first, very best friend P. She called to talk about the engagement, and we had a lot of other ground to cover as well. We're not the best at keeping in consistent touch, but she's my gal. That happened when I was 3, and hasn't changed since.

My mom, sister and I moved to New Jersey just after I'd turned 3, and C was 5. We rented a tiny bungalow house set far back from a quiet neighborhood street. One evening after dinner C and I went outside to feed the birds some leftover bread. We were in our footed pajamas with our puffed up toes stuffed into my mom's high heeled Candies. We shuffled along the winding narrow sidewalk that led to the street. As we got near the road, we spotted a little girl in front of her own house on the other side.

We had strict instructions not to cross the street. We found out later that P had been complying with those very same instructions as she stayed put and watched us from her front lawn. So we stood there, me and C on one side, P on the other. Finally my mom called for us, and we headed back up toward the house. That was the start of something big in each of our lives. Shortly thereafter P and I became inseparable and remained so our entire childhood.

And 28 years later, we're totally separated. By geography, time, and the everyday of simply living. We're not held together by phone calls, visits, or emails. But we're held together nonetheless. We're held together by something else. It's not blood. But similarly, it pumps through the heart.