Two visitors from outer space this week. One of them is my high school best friend, Jordan, who flew in from Vietnam.
I wrote this about her in 2004:
How is it possible that someone who hasn’t been a part of your daily routine for the past 7 years can be the first person you think of calling in a crisis? It’s not possible, unless you have the kind of friendship Jordan and I have. Our friendship traces itself back to high school — cultivated amid the gentle churning of adolescent anxieties, puppy love, girlish fantasies, and the world that held it all together. It was a pretty simple world. We were two payatot girls, ditzy but smart (haha), enamored of boys, pretending we were more “complicated” and worldly than we really were. We shared the same passions: debating, chicken nuggets (eaten for recess), writing long letters, rolling our eyes at teachers who just didn’t get it.
Just recently, we were talking about how so much has changed but how the things that matter have remained the same. St. Scho has gotten itself a makeover, and the buildings are spanking new. We’d probably get lost there if we visited. We’ve changed too, from the gangly, giggly kids we were to the sophisticated 20-somethings we now like to believe we are. The cafeteria nuggets have been replaced by seattle’s best coffee and the white ruffles and blue jumper by, well, nicer clothes.
But when you still laugh over the same things, understand each other without saying a word, still know instinctively when to pull close and when to let go – you know that the things that matter have stayed right where you left them.