BFFs

The din of the coffee shop was a little overpowering.  The Baristas whipped up espressos and the lunchtime chatter droned.  

I sat by myself, absorbed in Business Week.  Every time I felt a draft, when the door opened, I scanned the room for Cecile.

She caught me off guard.  She looked young and hip with her Burberry jacket and scarf, but Cecile has always been stylish.

Cecile is Cary's mother.  Cary was my best friend in high school.  And middle school.  Cary was my best friend for about 15 years.  So when did it all end?  Or did it?

I remember sitting in Mrs. Pickeral's 8th grade Latin class the day we were all informed that Cary's father had died.  I had been on the phone with her the night before and neither of us knew.  He had been killed in a hit and run.  When Mrs. Pickeral informed the class, I put my head down on my desk and wept.  Alex Reithmiller whispered audibly that I was looking for attention.  I could only think of Cary, and how much she loved her father, how good he was to her, in comparison to my own relationship with my father.

Cary was exceptionally bright.  She skipped the 4th grade and never looked back.  I don't believe Cary ever received lower than a B+ on a report card.

Cary and I weathered many a storm from middle school to college.  Divorces, remarriages, deaths, boyfriends, successes, failures... we made it through all of these together.

What we couldn't traverse was the distance wedged between us in college.  Cary went to Princeton; I went to Randolph Macon Woman's College, Miami of Ohio, Washington & Lee and Mary Washington. My depression had blossomed into full fledged mania and our friendship could not withstand the lashing.

Cary was diligent and hardworking.  She applied herself more than anyone I have ever known.  I was despondent and unsure.  I waffled between being absorbed by a class and total self-indulgence.  Cary studied.  I drank.  Cary committed herself.  I searched endlessly for the next available thrill.

I have never stopped loving Cary.  I lost sight of who we are, but I never stopped loving who she was.  I do not know if there is anything left of the girl I was once loved so dearly but having spent the afternoon with her mother, and talking to her about Cary, I get the impression that she is close to the same person.

Cecile continually ran her fingers through her ginger hair, trying to brush it aside.  She talked easily and smiled effortlessly. It felt like being with Cary, if only for an hour.  Smart, comely women.  Lexington certainly turned them out.

I miss sleepovers and sock hops.  I miss Spanky's and the Christmas Parade.  I miss football games, and wild parties out at Lyle McClung's.  Mostly, mostly, I miss Cary.  I miss the quiet confidences and the subtle nuances of pubescent girlhood.

Somewhere, underneath the guarded psyche of a heart surgeon is the girl I once loved, my best friend ever.  I wish she could still come out to play.