Friends

The day I moved in, she was making pasta. The early October sun was still warm and her mom was sewing the throw pillows for our living room. There wasn't much furniture there. The carpet still smelled new.

I didn't think we were gonna be friends really...just roommates. She was a neat freak and a Republican for God's sake. It took me a while before I actually "hung in" with her at home and a longer time before we "hung out" and went to a movie or whatever...

Three years passed and if one night she wasn't home, I could barely sleep.

Then she moved out.

Then I moved out.

Then we lost touch. We would only talk once or twice a month.

Then she got married.

Then she moved closer to me.

Then we became close again.

Now we hang in and hang out, and she tells me about married life issues.

I tell her to see a therapist. (When in doubt, see a therapist. They do help sometimes).

Then we goof off and talk the whole time while the old lady sings her sad romantic jazz songs under the May moon.

Then we leave, and on the way back home driving I think about how much I misjudged her before, and how foolish of me to think I could never befriend her.

Note to self: Life is like a box of chocolate...(ok, that's not very original but Forest was right and I can't think of anything more profound to say right now.)