Pouring You Into A Cab

Dear First Real Friend,

When I walked into that bar last night to see you for the first time in like, what? Fifteen years? I was expecting to totally pit out my tee-shirt with nervousness (which is why I wore the tank with the cute drapey cardigan thing if you must know) but I didn't. I was expecting to get all tongue-tied or the complete opposite, ultra did she just do a few lines in the parking lot chatty. But that didn't happen either. Instead I walked in there like I was walking into your basement from your backyard.

Sweet relief! You are funny and smart and sensitive and as cute and nice as you were when you were eight. And you have good taste in wine which I tasted for you which you soon learned was ridiculous since my palate is pretty much twist-off or in a can. You laughed at that and leaned over and hugged me for real and we were off.

I felt sorry for the bartender and the toads on the other stools because we were way too funny and way too interesting for anyone in that joint to compete. (Were there other people there? Actually I don't really know.) Turns out we didn't even need the booze to get down and ridiculously dirty, because within about six minutes I think we spilled all the major shit. And yo! That's some shit we both have, which just proves my point that most stuff comes undone in regular ways. Even for us. Mostly for us.

Remember when you asked me if my sister was still so TALL and BEAUTIFUL? She is beautiful, but she is 5'3". I think you are taller than her now. Remember when you asked me about my parents? And I asked you about yours? And then we both sat there, slack-jawed and all WTF and hold on and are you serious? I'm pretty sure that's when I knew we would have a second date.

Remember when I told you that I took a year off from that fancy college and you told me that you had done the same thing from your fancy college? And then you asked me why? And when I started to tell you, even though to this day I still don't have a great answer to that question, you finished my sentence and hugged me again and high-fived me? And then we howled about that time you "had no knees" at that Dead show in Virginia and that other time when we both had ridiculous hair issues and about the gay boyfriends we both had. That was some serious funny shit. I'm glad we still laugh at the same things: I'm glad we both know when to start laughing. I'm glad we never cried. I do that sometimes. I'm pretty sure you do too.

And the work stuff? I get that. And when you asked me

so, what have you been doing since you sold your business seven years ago?

I wasn't offended or even surprised because I get that a lot. And it was really nice of you to step in and apologize, which was totally unnecessary really, but appreciated. And after babbling about all the volunteer stuff and the Short Drunk People and the massive amounts of alcohol you said, straightface,

so you've been working?

which was perfect really and enough said and we moved on again.

And more hilarity ensued. And more stories. And peeing together in the bathroom. And standing on the sidewalk with the sun closing down, smoking butts like jackasses. Like 14 year olds. Like nothing had ever changed.

Somewhere between what was supposed to be two hours and turned into three hours, you had the great self-knowledge to consider a cab. And because I was once your best friend, I knew enough to know you needed one. So I got you one. So I put you in it, kissed your cheek through the window and sent you off in a blaze of absolute love and with luck for an easy hangover.

I got your message -- sent at 7AM! -- at about noon. Seven aaaa emmm? Really? You are GOOD girl and should know better: pouring girlfriends into cabs is my specialty! I don't think there's ever been a friend worth the trouble who does not have that cab pour down to a science. That's what we do. That's how we roll. I pour for you, you pour for me.

Next time: it's your turn. Didya hear me? I said "next time" which means... there will be a next time.

Thanks for meeting me on a work night with a baby at home and two other kids. Thanks for letting me make sure you got home OK. Thanks for growing up and moving on and moving back and remembering everything like I do.

Love,

Ms Picket

PS: I drove by my old house. The sucker's been torn down, replaced with a monster that I think takes up the entire acre lot. Our fort is gone. Our woods seem small comparatively. The new house sums up so much really, you dig?