My Best Friend

Little girls always have a best friend. Mine was a girl named Lorraine. She and I told each other secrets, laughed at ourselves, shared her bicycle, talked about our new baby brother (hers) and sister (mine), and thought we were on top of the world. When we entered 6^th grade Lorraine moved to Kansas and we pretty much lost contact until renewing our friendship on the internet a few years ago. Memories of us together are a warm part of my childhood.

Time went by, and I didn’t find a friend who was “really, truly, my best friend” again until I met Libby. Or, rather, Libby kind of met me. Actually, she crashed my wedding! That’s my story, anyway, and I’m sticking to it! Libby was a newly-wed herself, having just moved to California, and was living with her new in-laws. My prospective in-laws and Libby’s were good friends, so she and her new husband were encouraged to “come along” and attend my wedding. The first time I ever spoke to Libby was at my wedding reception, held in the home of my new parents-in-law. I don’t even remember meeting her – it was kind of a busy, frenetic moment for me, so how could I be expected to take notice of anyone but my adorable new husband? Libby likes to tell the story a little differently: she says she never wanted to come to the wedding anyway – “I had just been to one – why did I have to go to another?” – but when we met she quickly decided that she wanted to get to know “that little blonde person”. I like her story better.

I always liked Libby’s stories better. Nobody ever told stories like Libby. Nobody ever made me laugh like Libby. A born clown and mimic, she found humor and absurdity in every moment and every event! Whether mocking a German accent or butchering an impossible joke, Libby knew how to keep her audience alternatively shocked or in stitches. She didn’t care how you responded to her; the important thing was that you responded! Libby liked attention and she got plenty of it! After a morning spent with her I couldn’t wait to share her jokes and stories with Wally; of course, I never could convey successfully the hilarity and silliness – you just had to be there.

As with all those so gifted, Libby had an Achilles Heel. Often she was fodder for those emotional “bulls in the china shop” creatures who must take a shot at someone else in order to feel good about themselves. And there she was, larger than life, the loudest person in the room, a convenient target. But she could get hurt, bravado notwithstanding. She never developed the radar to detect deceit in others – or to know how to protect herself against it. Like Nathanael in the Bible, Libby was genuinely “without guile”.

Libby was my friend. I never knew why she loved me or why she chose me as her confidante; I’ve always been proud that Libby called me her friend. We used to talk about what we’d do when we finally got old. Definitely we would not be red hat ladies – ugh! We’d do wonderful, creative things – go exciting places and behave any way we liked. It didn’t happen. Libby got sick; then she moved away to be with her daughters, so we don’t see each other anymore. Ill health is her constant companion now and she can’t remember everything she knows. Rats!

Whoever designed this getting-old thing is going to have to answer to me someday – toe-to-toe! I know it’s God and He knows what I’m talking about; I’m getting too old to pull my punches anymore. There ought to be some sort of reward for having survived, endured, conquered, mastered, and succeeded at a job as big as Life! Instead, we’re not-so-honored with aches and pains and disorders and ailing loved ones. What? A little payback for the human condition?

Here’s what I want. A little more time with my best friend: another camping trip out on a windy mountain, listening to her tall tales and deafening guffaws; to watch her paint another still-life while she explains about colors and shadows; to share one more cup of tea as we rehearse again the qualities – good and not-so-good – of each others children; for good measure, to dream again of what incredible things we must still accomplish!

Old ladies are just like little girls – they still need a best friend to remind them of who they are and to validate their spot on this planet. Libby and I can’t share a bicycle – heck, we can’t even share a cup of tea. So I’ll call her tomorrow and we’ll reminisce. She’ll laugh too loud and I’ll be too silly. She won’t remember what we talked about; and I’ll never forget.