What I love: mes amis de la haute ecole
'Kay, so admittedly, I'm too far removed from my meager deux ans of high school French to know if that title is correct, but it's supposed to read "my high school friends."
Love those guys.
Emi: the friend who's constant. Our friendship began when my preschool self purportedly brought her a cup of juice after she jumped (fell? was pushed?) from the swing and broke her arm. I have no memory of my act of kindness, but she claims it's true, which is one reason I like her. To this day, she's the most likely to be there--to drop an email, to hang out when I fly home, to call on my birthday.
Karen: my twin in a whole lotta ways...just as stubborn as I am, for starters. Full of memorable one-liners and brilliantly caustic humor. I can't help but love her, especially when I think about her leaning over my lunch tray, fork poised in mid-air, eyeing my oranges while I talk on and on and on (some things don't change, eh?), asking, "You gonna eat that?" And yes, she's a skinny bit of a thing.
Gina: my kind of person. The one who loved blowing bubbles, who wore knee socks before the rest of us found out they were cool, who hollered warnings from a van window: "Don't eat my dog!" in not-the-best-part-of-town. Who strung vegetables into leis and played Power Rangers with me in the supermarket. (Sorry, White Ranger, the secret's out.)
I've been lucky enough to have seen them all in the past year, to witness that yes, they are still incredible people. But a sprig of sadness wends up through it all, too, for the quiet, unnamed space that slips between us. A casualty of time.
Which means I'm off to email them. Not so much to recapture the old bonds as to forge new ones, one conversation at a time.
Love those guys.
Emi: the friend who's constant. Our friendship began when my preschool self purportedly brought her a cup of juice after she jumped (fell? was pushed?) from the swing and broke her arm. I have no memory of my act of kindness, but she claims it's true, which is one reason I like her. To this day, she's the most likely to be there--to drop an email, to hang out when I fly home, to call on my birthday.
Karen: my twin in a whole lotta ways...just as stubborn as I am, for starters. Full of memorable one-liners and brilliantly caustic humor. I can't help but love her, especially when I think about her leaning over my lunch tray, fork poised in mid-air, eyeing my oranges while I talk on and on and on (some things don't change, eh?), asking, "You gonna eat that?" And yes, she's a skinny bit of a thing.
Gina: my kind of person. The one who loved blowing bubbles, who wore knee socks before the rest of us found out they were cool, who hollered warnings from a van window: "Don't eat my dog!" in not-the-best-part-of-town. Who strung vegetables into leis and played Power Rangers with me in the supermarket. (Sorry, White Ranger, the secret's out.)
I've been lucky enough to have seen them all in the past year, to witness that yes, they are still incredible people. But a sprig of sadness wends up through it all, too, for the quiet, unnamed space that slips between us. A casualty of time.
Which means I'm off to email them. Not so much to recapture the old bonds as to forge new ones, one conversation at a time.
posted by nic at 11:44 AM
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