I have a very best friend, for the past thirty six years now. I haven’t talked to her in probably four years, and four before that. But at any moment in time, I can call her, and she’ll be there for me. She was there on a mission the last time I saw her. I was upset about something, called her, asked to meet her, and an hour later we were at the mall, talking, as if we saw each other every day.
I met her at fourteen. She was standing by a pole in the student area, with a tan hot pants suit on, and I thought she was so cool. She was popular, and friendly to everyone. I wanted to be her friend. I was shy, and had low self esteem, so I didn’t think I stood a chance in her group. Surprisingly, she and I hit it off immediately, and were inseparable all through high school. We went to the same dances, the same parties, slept over each other’s house, got close with each other’s families, the whole works. I remember listening to Frankie Valli and the Four Seasons, and the Motown’s greatest hits, on eight track. We listened to them in the house, and in the car.
We went through everything together. Happiness over getting the boy to ask us out that we wanted. Sadness not getting the guy to ask us out that we wanted. Menstrual cramps, pms, crankiness, personal talk that only two friends that trust each other can talk about. Pillow talk. Sleepovers that consisted of no sleep! One time, we were talking on the phone, and we had the brilliant idea to say, "hey, why don’t we just leave the phones on our bed stands, and if we wake up, we can yell to the other one?" It seemed cool at the time.
Going to her home was the first time I realized we didn’t have such a nice one. I loved her house, it was a bi level, and it was decorated so nicely, and the rooms were designed in an appealing way. The bathroom actually had a separate area for the toilet, with a door. I was amazed. We had to walk through my brothers room to get to our bathroom. I stayed over her house more than she stayed over mine! The downstairs had a bedroom for her older brother Chip, and a rec room, with an ironing board, where you would most often find her grandmother, who lived with her. We got along, nan and I. She actually liked me. I liked her, too. And I adored her mother. She would tease the hell out of me in a joking fashion whenever we saw each other. She thought I was a little out there, and I was. And she definitely thought I was fun to tease. Her laugh was hearty, and husky from smoking, and she laughed often. Her husband was a police officer, and he and I got along great. She had a younger sister Lori Anne. They lived on the opposite side of town. They were in the township, I was in the town.
I had been having problems with my boyfriend of six years, and he went to Florida. I was devastated, and could not be consoled. My mother told me if he really cared about me, he would get a job, and a place to live, and call for me. Three months later, her premonition came true. So, I’m eighteen, I have a green Chevy vega piece of garbage, and it’s a standard. I need to get to Florida, but I don’t want to drive alone. Now, I thought I was shy when I first met Maryjane. She turned out to be a hundred times shier. Anything I wanted to get her to do, I could. "You want to go get ice cream, Mar?" "No, I don’t feel like ice cream." "Ah, come on, we can go to Baskin Robbins and get any flavor we want." "No, I’m tired." "Come on, Mar, maybe we’ll see somebody up town." "No." "Come on, you can get chocolate chip." Ten minutes later, we were at Baskin Robbins.
I loved my Maryjane. I told her about my upcoming trip, and how I wanted her to go with me. She said she didn’t know how to drive a standard, I told her I would teach her. "Come on, Mar, we’ll have fun, you can get a tan, go to the beach, and fly home the next week." Next day, Florida, here we come. When I got really tired, I had Maryjane drive, for five minutes. The car was bucking so much, I’d never be able to sleep. Years later, my friend finally mastered the art of the clutch and the stick shift. We did have fun. It was an adventure at eighteen.
My parents paid me a surprise visit, a few days after Maryjane left, and talked me into coming home, which I did. Months later, my honey came back.
I worked with her at Shop-Rite, in junior and senior year of high school. We were in the work release program, got out of school at 11, and worked 12-8, and were getting paid good money. I hated it, she loved it.
I was with my dear friend the day she got her license. Her brother had given her his red mustang, probably a ’69 maybe? She loved it, and looked forward to driving it for months. We were stopped to wait for traffic so we could make a left hand turn, she made it, a car was coming, side swiped us and we almost went through the window of a store. I forget if she kept driving it. When she had her son, I was his God mother, albeit not a very good one, not being close.
She has a beautiful home a few towns away-it looks just like her, lacey and frilly with dolls and knick knacks and pillows. It emanates her spirit. Open, and honest, a little naive at times, okay, many times, innocent, clean, inviting, warm, and cozy. She loves black and white cows, for some unknown reason. All those hours of talking brought us to where we are today. We impacted each other’s lives. We spent quality time together for years. We were each other’s sounding boards. I was her protector. She was too nice to ever be mean to a boy, so when one liked her and wouldn’t stop bugging her, I had to break the news to him.
She didn’t want to go out with him. It was no problem for me, but she couldn’t do things like that. We complimented each other because we were different, and we kept each other interested. We knew we had each other as companions and friends, and were closer than sisters. Yup, I may never see or talk to my best friend Maryjane, but the love I have for her never leaves my heart and soul. |
