Friends forever?

When I was a kid in Buffalo, my best friend's name was Denise. She lived at the end of the street, and her parents were divorced... or maybe separated... and I think they may have been involved in some kind of illegal activities -- drug dealers, perhaps. At least that's what my elementary school imagination made them out to be, because they seemed to be frequently absent -- and therefore Denise spent many an afternoon (and the better part of entire summers) at my house. We were often inseparable, prone to laughing fits, and loved ice cream. When my family moved to Texas, Denise and I exchanged addresses, and kept in touch for a couple years, probably talking about school and books and science projects and new friends and whatever else kids talk about when they write letters. Eventually, the letters became shorter, and we sent them less frequently, and one day -- a day I can't even pinpoint or remember because it smoothly transisted into the rest of my days -- they stopped altogether. I haven't heard anything about Denise since then...

In high school, I became fast friends with a girl named Allison. She and I were remarkably similar and shared many interests -- we both loved reading and writing, did well in all our classes, and sang in the chorus. We weren’t members of the “popular” crowd, and the night of our junior prom, we went to the movies together and indulged in popcorn and Twizlers and M&Ms (neither one of us had a date). I can still remember a card she gave me one year that said, “like the Marines, we’re looking for a few good men… and if their luck is as bad as ours, this country is in serious trouble!” That STILL makes me laugh. But of course high school graduation arrived, Ali and I went our separate ways, and for a while, sporadic letter-writing ensued. And once again, the letters eventually stopped, and another friend transitioned into a memory.

When I think back on the barely-perceptible endings to these friendships, I feel no sadness or remorse. Perhaps an occasional speculation or curiosity on what their lives are like these days, but otherwise, the end of those relationships seemed merely an evolution of my life story. But these days, I feel like my friendships are more important to me. Not that my childhood and teenaged friendships were unimportant, but they were more shallow, in a way. Childhood friendships are about playing games, and having fun, and eating ice cream on humid summer afternoons. Teenaged friendships are about sharing history notes, and giggling about boys in the hallway, and complaining about the injustice of homework. They’re the relationships you build before “real life” kicks in…before experience and knowledge and opinions have built up in layers, transforming children to adults.

And my “adult” self values the friendships I’ve formed since my younger days, more so than my pre-legal-voting-age self. Because these days, friendship is less about ice cream and games and more about support, and understanding, and relating to someone who can relate right back. There are people who read this blog on a regular basis who honestly honor me by simply reading my words… and in so doing, show me that this tiny little effort of mine is not as silly as I often assume it is. Some of these same people have been the proud (er, not-so-proud?) recipients of novel-length emails, authored by yours truly – emails that run the gamut from happy to sad… from content to angry… from thoughtful to illogical. And these people – the ones who’ve listened to my plaintive, overdramatic grievances, or my small, insignificant boasts, or my bizarre, nonsensical musings – these are the people I know to be true friends. The ones who have been subjected to the “real me” and continue to be here when I need them.

It’s not always easy, in the throes of “real life,” to maintain these kinds of friendships. Situations arise, marriages occur, kids are born, job transfers move us from place to place… feelings can be hurt and mended, illnesses strike when we least expect them to, people move in and out of our lives. It’s all such a far cry from the days of unfair homework. It’s no longer a matter of sharing history notes – it’s a matter of sharing a part of someone’s “real life.”

So to the people who know the real me and share in my real life – thank you. And continue to check your email for those novel-length messages. Because if you really know the “real me,” then you know another one can’t be too far behind…