Several of my friends have started the 30-day Letter Writing Challenge. One of them, Becky (of Six Impossible Things) has actually finished it and I’m completely impressed. The challenge is meant to be a writing exercise. While I have a couple of blogs going (one is, supposedly, anonymous and so I won’t be linking to Barbara’s site here because that would leave a trail of bread crumbs straight to my erotic door), I haven’t kept up well with this one. So, I am going to go for it. Thirty letters in 30 days. As if I don’t have enough to do in my life. This, the first, is a letter to my best friend. Now, please keep your hands and arms inside the vehicle at all times, it’s going to be a bumpy ride!
What can I say to you that I haven’t already said in my response to your incredibly eloquent letter to me? My reply was practically a post unto itself. We both know that I am long on verbosity (and if that wasn’t exactly grammatically correct, I know you’ll shoot me). Let me start by reiterating the fact that I have not had an adult best friend in many years. It isn’t easy for me to make friends. I make acquaintances well. I am good with the guys. Yet, sadly, when it comes to making friends with women, I am just now coming into my own. I’ve had far too many years where the women I spent time with were, well, attractions and that usually led to, well, other things beside just friendship.
You, my dear, came into my life via the Internet. Contrary to your recollection, I believe we first met on the Butch-Femme email list. Drawn to each other as like minds often are, we friended each other through MySpace and then the phone calls began. Before we ever met in person I had already claimed you as my Maid of Honor in my ill-fated wedding-that-was-not-to-be. Now, planning another one, we’re close to setting a date and I see one helluva bachelorette party looming in Vegas next Fall! You want to know the best part of all of this? You knew when things weren’t going well in my last relationship. You were the first person I would call in rage or in hysterics. You gave me whatever I needed at the time, either a silent shoulder to cry on, or a good old-fashioned ass whooping. And I knew, no matter what I decided to do with that relationship, whether you thought it was the right thing or not, you would have stood up there with me and been happy for me…as long as you knew I was happy.
This is what it means to have a best friend. Our lives are incredibly busy. We both have new jobs and new-ish relationships. We move around a lot and we live so far away from each other. Yet every time I pick up the phone and manage to get you on the other end, I feel that connection—that unbreakable bond that we share as two women who have been through hell and back and keep learning how to live again.
Whether you really want to admit it, darling, we are so much alike it is scary. Granted, together we look like Mutt and Jeff—you, the amazon with the dark hair and wicked smile and me, the little compact bottle blonde with the flashing eyes—but our backgrounds, history, neuroses…so similar. We share the good stuff, too; the stuff we tend to gloss over in our quest for self-deprecation: charm, wit, talent, brains, and fabulous taste in clothes. We love until it hurts. We give until we bleed. And we are there to pick each other up when we fall from grace.
Barbara, I love you. No matter where you are in life, I will be there. I wish you lived close by so that we could grab a tall sweet tea and walk the park together or put on our jammies and watch sappy chick-flicks together. I wish we could eat junk food and complain about our weight together. I wish we could just sit in stillness and appreciate each other and all that we’ve shared over the last six years or so.
You are and always shall be, my best friend. You forgive much and I am forever grateful to have you in my life. I hope you know what an amazing human being you are. Your spirit is indomitable and your beauty knows no bounds. I am truly lucky to call you sisterfriend.
With so much love,