This One is for Julie, Ma'Gerl



There must be something about summer that makes us older folks start reminiscing. Everyone I know (and read) has been wistfully, and in some cases, wincefully, recalling the wild days of their youth. When I think of those days, I am like my teenaged self in church, the Sunday morning after, alternately blushing and giggling as I flash back to the scenes of the previous evening.

I was able to revisit those days in the best of all possible ways with my best friend from the same, Julie, last night. As we now have families and the obligations thereof, we were limited to the phone, but it was still a rich, and at times, enlightening conversation.

We recounted experiences that ranged from eighth grade in a Catholic school to separate Catholic high schools (her's all girl; mine coed); my stint at college and her embarkment on a career, and all the shenanigans and subsequent men met, loved, and crushed in between.

Her memory prevailed when mine failed, and vice versa. We spent a good five minutes trying to recall the name of a boy that was a good friend of mine and had a crush on her:

Me: His name was John, or Jay.......he looked Jewish; but wasn't, and had big puppy dog eyes.

Julie: Hmmm, give me more.

Me: Remember, he took Kathleen to the prom under duress.

Julie: Now, HER I remember. (Rolls eyes. Yes, I could HEAR it).

Me: He was quiet and always followed you around.

Julie: (After several more prompts): JOHN FIERABEND!

Me: AhHAH!

Me and Julie: (Hysterical giggling and symbolic high fives ensue.)


We also recalled the times we would go out on the town in her brand new white with red leather interior Ford Mustang. One night she allowed me to drive myself home (she was, uh, otherwise occupied) in her new ride. Of course I managed to smash into the rock garden at the front of my family's subdivision, turning the fiberglass under the bumper to shards. I was scared shitless to call and tell her the next day, but being the sweet and wonderful friend that she is, she forgave me with nary a reservation. Maybe it was worth it. (Just kidding, Jules.)

Of course, not all of the past was about hijinks, guys and malls. There was the funeral of a friend. The death of a mother. A broken friendship. But we are here today, supporting each other as we tried to do then, the shadows of our younger selves keeping us bright and hopeful for what is to come. Because, after all, we made it through with the help of each other.

What I love most about my reconnect with my oldest friend is how she can bring to life my memories. Having lost my parents and my misspent youth, it gives me a satisfaction like no other to page through my memory albums with her. Each can recall details the other may have forgotten, relate feelings about experiences shared, and commiserate on events dimly remembered. It all comes to life when we walk down that path together, and share how the happenings that shaped our youth affected each of us. Not least of all, how our friendship made us who we are today.

As I said, we have now grown up and have husbands and children that take up most of our time. We talk about juggling kids, colds, jobs and husbands. But when either of us gets the chance, we take a glass of wine, shut the door, and have a "date" on the phone. For that hour or so we are 12, or 17, or 25 again. Friends like Julie are one in a million. I don't have to explain where I come from; she was there. I don't have to apologize for where I have been or what I have done, she was there. I never regret the angst and emotions I express to her now, because she is here, and always will be.

I hope every one I care about has a friend like that. Because for me, having a friend like Julie is a gift. Here's to you.