My oldest and dearest friend just called me, from the bathroom, at a professional seminar she is attending. She had a presentation exercise so she called me from the bathroom, whispering, to borrow a phrase I had written and lay claim to it herself.
I’m sitting here grinning like an idiot because I feel precisely as I did when we became allies in 3rd grade. That whispered phone call from the bathroom sealed another bond of complicity. Her dad used to get mad at us because we were sneaky, very sneaky, we invented sneaky. He used to say, “That’s what good friends do, one lies and the other one swears to it.” Third grade is a long time gone but our friendship has endured through times thick and thin, through silences and separations.
We are not politically correct and we laugh, in shameless hilarity, at the dark side of nearly everything. We still take one another’s side in hurts, real or imagined, and we promote each other’s successes. She has kept me from sinking to the lowest common denominator, even when it would have been satisfying and witty. She doesn’t want me to appear pathetic since she believes I am not. Her adventures inspire envy but never jealously.
We’ve grown up to be decent, strong women, which was precipitated a little bit by our early influence on each other. Living far apart, our contact is sporadic but meaningful. We know that wherever we are, we’re just a whisper away.