I love best friends.
Jennifer and I have known each other - our whole lives. Well, more accurately she and her family moved into the neighborhood when we were about five years old and have been making deals over charms collections ever since.
I love her because she is the most straightforward person I know. She is also a borderline hypochondriac in the most lovable way. She calls and says "I think I might be dying." I will answer "We all are Jennifer. Do I get first pick of your jewelry?" We talk all the time - every day or so. We don't get together as often as we'd like and that's our own fault.
There were six of us - three sets of sisters who grew up playing dolls, roller skating, talking about boys, riding our bikes to the library, etc. We grew older and went our separate ways. One to California, one to Texas, one to Florida, one to Pennsylvania and two in New York - Jennifer and me. We've all stayed in touch, some better than others (she said as she looked meekly around). Thankfully Jennifer lives in Brooklyn and I in Queens and we talk all the time from work.
She never reads my blog and could not be bothered. Not because she doesn't like how I write, on the contrary. She thinks with my family's colorful history, I certainly have a good story to tell. I never tell that one. It's a long one and well where to begin? At the beginning...
The girl child was born on a hot July day. Before there was routine use of air conditioning, before people thought to seek relief in any other way but on the stoop or in front of a fan, with a little cornstarch powder on your neck. Now that was luxury. She was the seventh child born to this family and that in and of itself should have been a good sign. Her mother is fond of telling her that her hair was a strawberry blonde that people would often remark upon. That and the space between her front teeth. Mr. Burns would look at that space and say with certainty that she would be a singer. Mr. Burns is probably rolling over in his grave.
We moved to the small town where I grew up in 1963. The dates are fuzzy in my mind, but Jennifer moved there shortly thereafter. That's a long time to have such a wonderful friend.
Life's pretty good, I guess.
PS: Hey Jenn, they really like chocolate too. Just saying.