I talked to my childhood friend last night. She lives in New York now. She had phoned me the day before but I was out. It's as if she knew something was disturbed in my atmosphere. So I told her about our son's divorce, and we caught up with all the kids and grandkids. She has three kids, all married and five grandchildren, plus another coming in June. I love to hear about them, and her mother, who is in her nineties and still going strong. My friend is someone I'd hesitated to reconnect with but finally she came out last summer, and it went well. We "caught up" and now touch base occasionally, and she tells me news of the tiny town where we grew up. Last night, she said a friend of ours, a guy who was like another girlfriend in our pack, had died of an aneuryism. He had a good life, with a wonderful marriage and kids and grandkids. But I thought of him as he was back then, a tall, gangly boy who probably had a crush on my friend, but was wise enough to be buddies with us and joke and laugh and take care of us. What a sweet guy he was. One of those men who women overlook because they have no "edge", and who are the best companions for a life together. This is the sad part of life at my age, the goodbyes and memories left waving in the wind, like ribbons from a package slowly unraveling in the sky.
But we managed to giggle a lot on the phone as well, and there was a feeling of being in the same boat together, drifting towards an unknown shore, but merrily, merrily, we row along.
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