I have the best friend in the whole world.
We met when we were seven. We were in the same class together. We walked home from school one day and we realized that her family had moved in to my family’s old house. I’d like to think we knew it was meant to be.
We did ridiculous things together as kids. I think my child is weird, but when I look back on the things my best friend and I did, I don’t think Squeak is so weird anymore.
(Give her time. Let the weird simmer.)
We went through those awful grade school years together. Those awful high school years together. She remained my friend as I was learning how to drive. That one should’ve broke us.
We flew to Memphis together and smoked cigarettes on Beale Street while listening to “Blister in the Sun” by the Violent Femmes. I remember the Southern heat pulsating down on me as the music wafted out the windows and to my ears. I remember smelling the beer and peanuts from that local bar. I remember being sixteen and thinking I was an adult.
Once college hit, we sort of drifted apart for a few years. No bad blood, sometimes things just have a way of shifting. Other people demand more of your time. Life moves forward that way, people shift out, people shift in. It’s useless and unnatural to try and stop it.
After high school, she met an amazing man and became an amazing, loving, wife. She had three beautiful, weird, kids. She is a patient, fun, caring and laid back mom. I take lessons from her.
When I had my daughter I used her middle name. Jean. Whenever I meet a Jean, I consider it a good omen. The Jeans know where it’s at.
She was there at my wedding. She was there through my divorce. She will be there when I find the love of my life.
And two weekends ago, she was there at 2am looking for my keys in the pitch black when I had to pee and my Blazer’s security alarm WOULD NOT STOP GOING OFF.
Best friends help you find your keys.
This one is for you Heidi Jean.