When I first meet my best friend, “R,” junior year in high school, we don’t really care for each other. In fact we annoy each other. I think she is too quiet. She sees me as a loud mouth. I wonder why she sits at the back of the class. She feels I just draw more attention by sitting near the front. Funny thing is, we are two of only a handful of Asian students at our Livonia high school, but the common heritage does little for our friendship.
One day, I skip school.
One day, I skip school.
And…Hide in the library. I know. Pretty nerdy. I should have at least ventured to the mall or gone out to IHOP for breakfast. Instead, I slouch behind a cubicle in the back of the library, hoping no one will catch me ditching Physics. I soon discover R chilling amidst the bookshelves. Find out that her dad is having a heart bypass today, and she doesn’t want to be around people. Understandably so. How do you concentrate on anything when your parent undergoes major surgery? Being the only two kids in there, we chat for a bit. About how her dad runs ten miles a day. How I hate Physics. How homework is overrated. I feel sad for her dad’s situation, but I’m young, with little experience and wisdom in the ways of empathy. I’m pretty sure the minor interaction between us made her avoid me more. I don’t even remember asking her how her dad fared the next day. Sheesh. If ten steps to ending a friendship before it starts exist, I check off nine before the end of junior year.
Senior year arrives and R and I find ourselves in almost every class together. Great. There’s that chick who hates me I’d think every time I see her. The tricky part is, we have a lot of mutual friends. So we can’t avoid each other completely.
I cannot pinpoint exactly when the winds begin to change direction. All I remember is one night we drive home together after watching a movie with a bunch of friends. We sit in her driveway with the engine running this winter evening, and somehow the topic of money comes up.
I tell her that I never want to be rich. Money and I have an adverse reaction. Material things more specifically. In sixth grade, when I became aware, on a small scale, of the poverty that lay across the ocean in places like India and South Africa, stuff made me feel guilty. I would often wonder why I had so much stuff when the kid across the ocean didn’t know if she was going to eat that day. The immeasurable difference between economies unsettles me so much so that I vow to never to own more than one television, car, or anything other major item.
And somehow this vow of future material moderation bonds us. We consider ourselves friends that night. The remainder time senior year is full of good times, especially in APEnglish, concocting totally off-the-wall interpretations of poems that have no place in the category of “great”…unless the historians mean great for burning.
We graduate and part ways, R off to Ann Arbor and me off to Evanston. Since our spring breaks don’t correlate, R decides to shoot up to Chicago for a few days, and we end up, of all places, in the hospital. An intense migraine make R black out, making me freak out. Afraid something terrible is wrong, I drive her to the E.R. at Evanston hospital.
While R hangs out on the gurney, waiting for a CT Scan, I putz around to see what I can pocket. Band aids. Alcohol wipes. Tongue depressors.
“Stop!” R says, “You’re gonna get us arrested.” I put the items back when I get the sense that she actually thinks I’m doing something criminal. We return to the dorms that evening, laughing so hard, you’d think we just came back from Second City.
What I remember most about her visit has to do with my own health. I undergo a spiritual depression of sorts my freshman year, not sure what to believe or why to believe anything at all. One afternoon, R shares a little about her faith, and I honestly can’t recall the details, but what I do remember is how she sounded totally, completely, head over heels in love. With Jesus. And as she sits on my bed, hugging my stuffed gorilla, and telling her story, one thought burns inside of me:
“I want that…I want some of that. I want to know love like that.”
Fast forward six months, and we sit in my parent’s backyard, both home on summer break, praying together. Our friendship has arrived at a new place of closeness, somewhere between friends and best friends. Good friends for sure.
Then a few years later, R asks me to be her maid of honor, and I think to myself, she’s my best friend! Unfortunately, I nearly botch up the gig. I know I should throw her a party and adjust the bottom of her dress during the ceremony. That’s what they did in the movies.
One afternoon, a couple months before the big day, R confronts me over cheeseburgers and fries—how I pretty much suck as her Maid of Honor. I haven’t organized the shower. I didn’t contact the other bridesmaids yet. I should be fired actually, but it’s too late to choose another. I sit across from her in horror. Sheesh. I need to get on the ball. And I do. In the end, I plan a fun bachelorette party and shower for R. I’m pretty sure I make up for the slow start.
Fast forward ten years, and we’re both married with kids but now live in different states, giving us few chances to see each other. So we plan to attend a Woman of Faith weekend together, a five hour drive from my house, giving us ample time to catch up and be inspired once the conference kicks off. CeCe Winans brings down the house along with Nicole C. Mullens, and we rock to the songs like no one is watching. I probably dance a little crazier than R. Bottom line—we have a blast!
The ultimate revelation surfaces on our drive back to my house. We discover, in a nutshell, that we married each other! As she shares reoccurring arguments that she and her hubby had, I find myself relating to everything her husband said. As I share some of my own marriage struggles, she empathizes with my spouse. The light bulb moment happens when we both hear lines that our hubbies have spoken that are identical to lines we say—all the time. OMG! We married each other…through our spouses! What are the chances of that!?!
After our initial guffaw over more comparisons that just confirm our suspicions, we realize that we are onto something. Something huge! A weapon we had no idea existed. Until today. Whenever one of us can’t square away an argument with her spouse, we can call each other up and ask each other for advice. Knowing that the voice on the other line is not there to agree but rather to explain the spouse’s stand—in a calmer voice. And I’m not even kidding, this asset has reduced many a mountain-escalating fight back down to a manageable mole hill.
Sigh. At present, we’re oceans apart, and conversations have to be scheduled when my kids are in school and her kids are in bed. And although the physical distance stretches us, especially when one of us faces a crisis, in some ways, I’ve never felt closer. Don’t get me wrong. There are plenty of days we wish we could just meet up for coffee and chocolate to talk things over, face to face. As different as we are, a love for chocolate is one thing we’ve always shared. And a love for trees too!
When I think of the one person on this earth, besides my hubby, who totally knows me. Through and through. Flaws, bad dreams, embarrassing moments and all, I would have to choose R. She’s my accountability—for things I struggle with. She’s my champion—for the author I want to be. And she love me—even when I don’t particularly love myself.
For my last birthday, she gave me a really cool card. One that sings! When you open it up, the song from Toy Story busts out in the words:
You’ve got a friend in me
You’ve got a friend in me
You’ve got troubles, well I’ve got ’em too
There isn’t anything I wouldn’t do for you
We stick together and we see it through cuz
You’ve got a friend in me…
When I miss her terribly, and it’s four in the morning in her neck of the woods, I pop open the card to hear the song. But even when the music dies, I know our friendship will keep dancing. We’re BFE’s after all. Best Friends for Eternity!
R—Know too. You’ve got a friend in me.
And I love you. Love you. Love you. ♡♡♡
Happy Birthday! 🙂
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So how did you meet your best friend?? Do share!!
^^^ you guys are so cute 🙂
Thanks Rock Like Ria!! That’s so great!! Yeah for history and lasting friendships!! 🙂
Raj…I love this one. I meet my BFF in high school..Shes the best.
Here I was trying to protect your identity … i think I’ve said enough..for now! 🙂
Did you read the comment before I deleted it??
Hilarious!!!
Did you read my improved version, written when I was NOT surrounded by crying sick kids?
Let’s keep leaving comments and then deleting them…. 😉
Thanks for being the worlds best BFE :-). One who will not let me get away with anything but pushes me on forward, all the while cheering. Love you so much. BTW I do NOT remember confronting you over cheeseburgers and fries about your job as maid of honor!? Did you make that up, Raj?? 😛 I only have good memories of you doing your job — so seriously actually that it cracked me up. Especially adjusting that dress — you kept at it all through the service! LOL!! And, FWIW, I never hated you in high school – I admired you for your fearlessness. OK maybe sometimes I cringed a little — heh heh…;-) But now.. can’t imagine life without you. And one of these days we’re gonna meet up in Europe for a no-kids week.