. . . a woman in her mid forties sits in the corner sharing a latte with a dear friend. They talk about the most important things: life, love, pain, fear and the change that has occurred since the last time they saw each other. Twenty years ago, one young bridesmaid bent down to spread the white silk and chiffon train of her best friend's wedding dress. Today, they shared a coffee.
We were slow and I let my mind speculate about the fun they must be having reminiscencing and sharing with each other the past 20 years of their lives.
I thought about my high school friends, and the memories that we would soon reminisce about when we have a reunion in a few weeks to celebrate a new little life and support an old friend who is now a mother-to-be.
Mostly though, I thought about my college roommates. I imagined us in the middle of our lives, past parenthood. In an age where we were finding time to say hello once again, where our children were grown, our husbands were preoccupied or we were divorced. Our careers were finally nine-to-five's, and we were waiting for retirement. I imagined some of us with widow peaks of gray hair; others salt and peppered; others darker, faker, dyed. I even imagined loose skin and wrinkles. (Sorry girls.) But what I imagined most, was the comfort of an old friend. I imagined reaching across the table to lay my hand on top of the hand of someone I hadn't seen since my wedding day. I imagined all the unspoken words, the ones that didn't need to be said. I imagined the comfort found within the silence. I imagined tears.
As I was thinking all this, I hated myself for even allowing the thought of twenty years to pass between visits with my best friends. I became angry with myself about something that hadn't even occurred, about something that I premeditated on my own, but I couldn't tell myself it would never happen as I counted the months between the last time I had seen some of my very best friends. In the middle of a lull at FPC, I faced reality.
Each day I go to work. I see new faces. I learn new names. I slowly start a rapport with co-workers. I begin calling them friends instead of acquaintances. Sometimes, we have a drink afterwards or talk about hanging out outside of work. They are all great. Don't get me wrong. I love meeting new people, but it's like when you finish a really, really good book. You shut the back cover and put it on your shelf. You contemplate it. You never quite get it out of your mind. It gathers dust. You glance over it's worn, faded cover every once in a while, as you look for something new. Your fingers always find their way back to it's cracked binding, tracing the letters of the authors name, the title. You pull it down. You dust it off. Your fingers leaf their way over watermarks and ruffled pages. You open it up, you find an old friend.
My friends are everywhere. One journeys to great depths in Africa, fulfilling a dream of a lifetime at age twenty-four. One experiences earthquakes and snowstorms and weather breaking heat records in our Nation's capital. Others become big city girls in NY or further their careers and education. They all make change. And, I'm so proud of each and every one of them, but I hate to face the reality.
In the future, when I see each of them, we will reminisce, we will say goodbye not knowing when we will see each other again, and we will build lives, separate and apart. At work today in the middle of a lull, I saw a glimpse of my future.
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