Tonight: dinner with an old, dear friend

Forbes College, late August/early September 1992

Dear C,

It was 17 (OH MY GOD!!) years ago that we met, almost exactly. The picture above is how I will always remember you: long tanned legs, jean shorts, long blonde hair with bangs. You and C and K (above on the right) remain the only people I’ve ever chosen to live with other than Matt & my children (and the jury’s out on that one! joke, joke!).

You’ve lived abroad for so long (ten years?) that I am incredibly grateful that your parents live in Boston, otherwise I’d never see you. These quick dinners and visits around other holidays or family events are the lifeblood of our friendship now, as well as too occasional phone calls punctuated with howling children and the pop of wine corks.

I have so many vivid memories of our years of friendship, particularly those packed into our four vivid, messy, wonderful years in New Jersey. The way your backpack straps had to be laid out flat at 90 degrees on the floor, your Benetton precision folding, the big rolls you ate from the WaWa every day, the click clack of your clogs across the linoleum lobby of Forbes. The vats of Diet Coke you drank, your small, worn stuffed white polar bear, your mattress on the floor in the gable of our 4th floor room. Indian print tee shirts, a rainbow of Patagonia pullovers, and Nike running shoes. The night we slept in the back of my parents’ Taurus station wagon on the side of the road in Cape Cod, the train ride from Penn Station to Boston in a blizzard with Peter Lynch and an overly-chatty investment banking analyst, and our exceptional, awesome, first-choice room draw senior year.

You are quiet and somewhat reserved, and the treasure of your friendship is reserved for a few. I don’t think most people know how outright hilarious you are, sarcastic and unsentimental and just plain funny. Your keen observations on the joys and challenges of motherhood, and your disdain for pretension make me laugh every single time we talk. You have a mix of sheer adoration for and complete frustration with your children that I find immensely familiar and deeply reassuring.

You are one of the most loyal friends I have, and incredibly kind: if I ever really needed something I know you would not hesitate to provide it. Your firm, steady affection is always there, even when we are not in close day-to-day touch (and I wish we were). Like me, you can be rattled by tiny things but you are also, sometimes, incredibly unflappable: I remember how you did not flinch when I dropped your engagement ring down my kitchen disposal (yes, I got it back out).

Thank you for being one of the small cadre that keeps me laughing and keeps me sane. I can’t wait to see you tonight.

Love. xox