I've had the same best friend ever since I was four years old. Technically, we were close before then, but four is as far back as I can remember. We both remember her coming to my fourth birthday party, at my grandma's. I got a toy alligator flashlight, complete with alligator noises, and we swam in my grandma's large pool. Water Wings included, of course.
Her name is Amber, and we've been through a lot over the past fourteen years. She came over today and in typical us fashion, we spent the day eating, laughing, reminiscing and watching comedies. Today was special though, as she's leaving for Jamaica on Sunday, and she'll be gone for the guts of a year. (She has to come back once every three or four months otherwise the government would kick her out for good), but coordinating schedules and okay times to meet for coffee while she's back in the country will be hard. Especially because this time next year, I'll be living in Cannon Beach (Lord Willing), so even though she gets to come back every now and then, it's still painfully obvious that we're just not going to see each other for almost a year.
I wish I could go to the airport to see her off, but we're leaving for Disneyworld on Friday. So our final goodbyes were said tonight, and I had to bite my lip pretty hard to keep from crying.
You don't maintain a lifelong friendship without having gone through some pretty hard times together, you know?
There's been rocky moments, long periods of silence, many nights falling asleep crying together, and countless hours spent talking and talking and talking in each other's kitchens, or on each other's couches.
We've slept under the stars, we've traveled to Hawaii and Canada, we've grown up in each other's families.
We've had matching sweaters, we've seen each other at our worst and best moments, we've danced like no-one is watching (even when everybody was), we've laughed harder (and louder) than anybody alive, we've planned parties. We've decorated rooms, cooked unsavory meals and ate them anyway, we've had adventures, played outlandish games, jumped on trampolines, ran races, played innumerable rounds of Marco Polo.
We played dress-up in our sisters' ballet costumes. We still play dress-up now. She helps me pack whenever I go on vacations, and she taught me all about what it meant to have and cherish culture, and what it meant to have big, scary, "my name in flashing lights" sorts of dreams. We've done tea parties, and birthday cakes, re-enacted glorious scenes from our favorite movies. We've basked in the eternal glory of the ocean, and we've sung songs around campfires, we've eaten strange things, and swam with sea turtles and eels and never, ever let each other forget how fabulous the other was. We've painted together, partied together, dared each other to do things we'd never dream of discussing with others, lost friends, lost boys, and lost each other a few times, but always found our way back to each other again soon....
And every memory I have of us is the greatest memory I have, or that's how it feels, anyways.
Growing up with someone is a crazy wonderful experience. I highly recommend it.
She inspires me, and I take care of her.
It's what we do. And I'm going to miss her a lot while she's gone. I'm crazy excited for her, but I'm still going to miss her all the same.
So, tonight's been one of those nights where memories keep resurfacing every few minutes, and each one takes me down a different direction, a different road. It's kind of hard to keep focus, until I realize I don't actually know what I'm trying to focus on.
And then it starts all over again.
I know a few things:
I'm pretty sure I'll be up most of the night writing.
I desperately need to finish watching Casablanca so I can return it to the Library before we leave on Friday.
I miss my Ireland.
I miss my childhood.
I'm going to make my own sugar body scrub tomorrow.
I'm listening to my mom's old Lyle Lovett albums and wishing I had been genius enough to write the songs he's written.
There's people in my life that I miss, and people that I don't. Regardless of where we stand now, I still think about them often, and dream about them when I sleep, and hope they're doing as well as I am.
I also know that my guitar (or any guitar, really) is one of the sexiest things I've ever laid eyes on, and I wish I could manipulate those strings the way I've always dreamed of. But my hands are stiff, and my fingers aren't fast enough, so I really hope I end up with someone who can play like the devil, and make or break my heart with a single song.
I believe I'm rambling now, so I'm going to stop before I get any more nostalgic for disaster.
Instead, I'm going to flip through the pages of my "Irish Moment" picture book, listen to some more weepy, country/blues songs, and write my way through my remembrances.
The divine peace within my soul honors the divine peace within yours.
My loves,
my doves,
my eggs.
Goodnight.
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