It is mid afternoon. The kind of day when the sun is out, the bees are buzzing and spiders are dozing in the folds of your blinds. I stood by the sink and wrapped up a conversation with my best friend. Putting the phone back in its holder, I felt cheerful. My mind raced planning ahead. I would shower and clean up and head out for a walk.
An hour later, nothing on that list is done. An empty tea-cup stands mute as my brain digs up memories and snippets of conversation from the past.
It is a term I use rarely these days. Friend usually does it for me. But on days like today when am on the phone a good forty minutes talking about random things is when I realize that there are friends and there are best friends.
The conversation by itself was nothing unusual. It started with my previous post. We talked of the loaded word ‘choice’ that us women bandy about when we make decisions that we would not take in a gender neutral world. It was the other things in the conversation that got me thinking about friendship.
Things I would normally cover up with a misplaced laugh, a certain shrillness and a voice that would have trouble staying steady. Things I would gloss over because there is a pecking order to the people in my life. An offhand remark on the other side of the phone that would have felt just as natural if our places had been interchanged. The disarming frankness with which our pasts were out in the open. To dissect and analyse clinically.
It hit me after I had hung up that I am as lucky in friendship as in love. That there are some things worth holding on to. For life.