Dear Candice,
A year has passed since I last excitedly spoke to you long-distance over the phone.
A year since we last exchanged photographs of our sons.
I could never keep a friendship going after I left somewhere.
Are you still in Illinois?
Well, I am still here in New York.
As I look back at our year-long friendship, a Crayola-box-colorful surge of memories sparkles my senses.
You were always so friendly. Genuine. Uninhibited. Thoughtful. Generous. Funny. Sweet. And yes, wild and outrageous as hell.
You were the first girl friend I ever openly and giddily talked about love, passion, and sex. Well, we talked about those things in a joking, silly fashion, but it was still wonderful.
You made me blush.
You made me laugh heartily.
You carefully fixed my uneven bangs with a pair of scissors when I cut my hair on an impulse one morning at work.
You tried to convince me to wear your shiny vinyl stilettos and skin-tight Fredericks Of Hollywood velvet leopard-print mini dress at work for Halloween. You suggested that I could draw black whiskers on my face and pretend to be a kitty cat for the duration of the day. I tried on the dress and heels but ultimately did not have the guts to carry the look out in public. You smiled and giggled, and gave me the dress to keep to “dress up” for my husband sometime. I still have your dress even today. It is a symbol, a crazy yet beautiful memento of you.
You always asked how I was feeling while I was pregnant.
You placed your hand on my growing belly and felt my baby kick and move.
You even sang to my baby, and I swear he heard you and felt very loved.
You confessed that you wanted a baby too. You felt that a baby would bring even more love to your marriage.
I told you that you would be the most adoring and wonderful mother. The best mommy a baby could ever dream of.
And it was the truth.
And I can still picture your face and excitement and elation when you told me one day that you were indeed pregnant.
You looked so beautiful and radiant.
When I left work a few weeks before my baby was born, you were the one who always called me to find out how I was doing.
When I gave birth, you were the one who came over to my apartment and cradled my new baby.
And when my husband and I needed someone to watch over our baby during a Pearl Jam concert, you and your sweet husband offered to baby-sit, saying that it would be a taste of things to come very soon.
And you took care of my baby that night. And my baby was perfectly content and safe and loved.
And then. My family and I moved across a few states.
And we talked every now and then over the phone, exchanged pictures of our babies.
And your baby is so beautiful. A perfect blend of you and your love.
But. Miles and miles between us.
The distance should not have mattered. It should never matter.
I should have called you more and kept our special friendship going kicking and strong.
One day passed. One week passed. One month passed. One year passed and counting. Of not calling. Not talking. not connecting. For whatever reason.
I miss you.
I miss you more than any friend I have ever had.
Maybe someday I will get the nerve to lift up the phone and give you a bumblebee buzz.
And then we can once again share honeyed words and smiles.
Someday...soon. A promise to you...and to myself.
Love,
Jennie