Imagine Me and You, and You and Me, So Together

1) If you could tell me something, anything, what would you say? Whisper it right now please, into the pale pink folds of my ear. Afterward I will press imaginary snaps on my upper and lower lips and conceal your secret forever. Or if you prefer, write it on parchment with a fountain pen and hand-deliver or mail it to me. I’ll read the words and burn them immediately, inhaling the smoke till I cough.

2) If you were to show me something, what might it be? I’m holding out my hand because I want you to take me there. Or, draw a picture of it. Maybe record it on film. I want to see. Really.

3) If you could give me something to taste, one of the most wonderful things ever or your right-now-favorite-food, what item would you choose? Record the recipe for me, or better yet, deliver the item or culinary creation to my porch in a gift bag, snuggled in shimmery aqua tissue paper. Ring the bell and run, or not. I could make coffee . . . 

4) Is there something you want me to touch—an item sleek and smooth, cool even, or softer than soft, maybe prickly and dangerous? Bring it here please. We should examine it together, side by side.

5) What is the most interesting fragrance you know? Is it sacred to you? Live and yellow as lemons? Smoky and warm like radiant coals sequestered in greyed ash? Perhaps it's cloying but pristine lilies-of-the-valley? Warm and yeasty rolls in a basket under a checked cloth? Breathe in through your nose and out through your mouth, across from and very close to me.

(Okay now, friends . . . don’t be shy. What are your five things?)

*The One That Got Away*

Once upon a time I had friends, best friends. But after we graduated high school God cast us far and wide. He flicked his wrist hard and we scattered like so many Pick Up Sticks. None of us touched after that, not geographically anyway. Hefty phone bills and first jobs out of college widened the distance between us, and eventually, marriages and babies. So then what? We had to find new gal pals. But it had gotten harder. Since we weren't spring chickens anymore.  Since everyone we met was so daggone busy. Even so, we didn’t have a choice, did we?

~~~

“Do you wanna be best friends? Just you and me? Do ya, do ya? Huh, huh?” 

 I didn’t answer right away. Didn’t look at her either. Instead I fiddled with the snaps on my daughter’s onesie. Pretended to give my friend privacy while she nursed her baby. Her question surprised me. Made me feel claustrophobic. Like if I said yes, it would be me and her in a Jif jar with a lid on and a cotton ball soaked in nail polish remover. 

I turned away slightly and cupped my hand to push air in my mouth.  And then she moved. Far away.

~~~

“Guess what?” my best-friend-first-through-twelfth-grade said when I answered the phone. “I have unlimited long distance calling now. We can talk like, every day.” 

And we did for awhile. Till I blew it. We got in this tiff, of all things, about her religion and my faith. When she said that one thing just so, I was pretty sure it was over. I heard the word never come out of my mouth even though my personal philosophy is never say never. 

She fell silent and Iwatched our friendship, like an egg, roll across a surface that wasn’t level, but tilted ever so slightly downhill. 

~~~

Soon after, I met another woman, at my son's pre-school. She had the best cheekbones ever but something shadowed her. All the time. One day I figured out what it was—fear. Eventually I got used to it—her scaredy-cat aura. And actually, it seemed to lessen the more we hung out.

 As our kids got taller, we grew closer. At one point though, in my mind, I pretended to be a traffic cop. I extended my arm, flexed at the wrist. Stop. Don’t come any closer. ‘Cause I don’t think we have enough in common. 

See, she didn’t paint her nails, wear lipgloss, or love shoes. I could tell her anything but somehow that didn't seem like enough. We telephoned and emailed a whole lot, but I knew even if she didn’t, that I’d put SaranWrap around my heart.

She moved away, just for a year, but still . . . 


               A     L   O   N   E   (L   Y)    N E   S   S


The just-you-and-me gal visited the other day. We sat side by side on the sofa. 

You’re more like me than anyone I know, I said inside my head.

 I grinned as my kids laughed with hers. Only thing is,  you don’t wear mascara.

 She hugged me as we stood beside her car. “It’s like I never left.”

I stepped back and nodded. Waved as they drove away.  Ask me that question again. I’ll say yes this time.

~~~

When we found out my pa-in-law had super bad cancer, I phoned my best friend from childhood.

“Tell me all that stuff you do again,” I said. “The natural, organic, herbal, and homeopathic stuff.” 
                “Really?”  

I nodded. “Really.”

And she did. Things got better after that. In fact, we're almost back to the place we were before. There’s still a creek that divides the lands of my belief and hers, but after six years, the bridge is coming along nicely. 

~~~

I threw a welcome-home-unload-the-U-Haul party when my one friend moved back. Despite phone calls, emails, and texts (and not having enough in common), I missed her. A whole lot. As I walked up her driveway I wondered if she’d be able to tell the difference in me.  How the SaranWrap around my heart had disappeared.

A Love Hate Friendship

For the longest time I loved you. And hated you. Actually, it was more of an envy. ‘Cause day in and day out boys liked me but wanted you. Week after week I was cute but you were hot. Back then I was pretty sure cute was a four letter word.
            Things were different today. In court. When you were trying to get permanent custody of your granddarlings. You wore a black suit with a pink top and you’d twisted your waist-length hair into a complicated figure eight. You peered at the judge over your Target reading glasses. Not a stitch of makeup on.
            That morning I’d slipped into my all-green Ann Taylor outfit hoping it would make my eyes seem aqua and communicate this-chick-has-her-act-together. I styled my hair Jennifer Aniston straight. Sprayed it with Aveda gloss drops and everything. I primed my lips then slicked them with stay-the-day lipgloss in L’il Red Corvette. Tucked the tube in my sparkly clutch for touchups. 'Cause you never know who's looking when.

            When you introduced me to your lawyer, I got the feeling he thought I was pretty. Maybe even hot. I saw him inspect my hands, probably checking for a wedding ring. Man, I tell you what. That guy sure knows how to jack his jaws. Don't know if he's always like that or if he was just trying to impress the judge. Or me.
            I giggled behind my hand every time the just-the-facts lady judge said, "Get to the point, counselor." 
            Even though I thought your attorney exceedingly long-winded, I liked it afterwards when he said my testimony on your behalf was like a verbal hug. That wasn't what I'd prayed for. It was better.
            The coolest thing was when Judge Just-the-Facts asked me how long I'd known you. I swept my shiny hair behind my shoulders and said, "Forty years, ma'am."
            I almost missed her awarding you physical and legal custody of your twin granddaughters. I was still focused on those forty years. And how some things change like hating you and some things stay the same like loving you.