Golden Girl

I spent last Saturday with my oldest friend, Eileen. We met during our first week of high school, freshman year. She rode the same bus as some girls in my home room and I think we ended up having lunch at the same table. We started talking and just clicked. I don't remember our ever having a class together. But she and I became so close we usually spent part of most weekends together. I don't know how I would have survived high school without her and yet I look at us sometimes and wonder how we ever found common ground.

I'm an only child, she's one of six. I had my own bedroom and bathroom -- a luxury she truly envied. But her house was always bustling and I loved to hang out there. I'm 5'2", brunette, grey eyes, semi-cute. She is 5'8", strawberry blond, fair and naturally beautiful. When we were in high school, I was sensible, the planner, the "mature" one. She was adventurous, laid back and lovably flighty. I generally had my feet on the ground, her head was often up in the clouds. I got the directions for where we were going, made sure we had gas and some money. She'd jump in the car, tell me the latest gossip and make sure my mascara hadn't run before we hit the party. When my serious self needed to lighten up, she was always there to crack me up. When her disorganization or lack of foresight caught up with her, I would help her straighten it out and get back on track. We saw each other through everything in those years and we learned that we could depend on each other for honesty, laughter, understanding. We knew we could trust each other -- and in a school filled with hormonal teen-age girls, some of whom could smile in your face just before they stabbed you in the back, that was saying something! Our friendship is one of the most genuine relationships I've shared in and I treasure it.

Forty years later, the contrasts between us are just as intriguing. She's married to a gem, has 3 kids and lives in California. I'm single, have 2 kids, a son-in-law and 3 grand-daughters all living close by in the East. She's a decorator and artist, I'm a lawyer and semi-singer. She's into biking and sometimes rides 30 to 40 miles for fun but it's a special kind of hell for me just to get to the gym. She's still adventurous, fearless, heading off to some new place whenever she can. I'm a traditionalist, a putterer, happiest at home near my family. She can take the most negative situation you can think of and turn it into a positive one. I can waste time getting caught up in the sad stuff of life and miss out on the chance to feel just plain happy. Could we be more different? Yet as soon as we're in the same room again we're as close as we were when we double-dated to our junior prom. Over the years it's become clear that we've stayed connected, in part, because of the differences between us.

I've also learned that Ei and I share some basic traits: we are Irish, with the irreverent sense of humor that's part of our heritage and the spines of steel that lurk just below the laughter. We are all about our families -- even when they make us nuts -- and we don't understand deception, cruelty or pretension. My friend may seem light and easy on the surface, but she is determined about the people and things that mean the most to her. You see, the thing with Eileen is to never confuse her sunniness with a lack of seriousness. She knows who and what are important to her -- and her marriage, her kids and her home reflect that. All are real, solid, filled with love. Just like her.

I can talk to Eileen like I can to no one else and I think she feels the same. We can go for months at a time without speaking but as soon as we see each other we're like magpies, yak-yak-yak, giggling, finishing each other's sentences, speaking our own familiar language. It's such a cliche but...we just get each other. The familiarity and comfort of knowing we are truly "there" for each other, no matter how many miles separate us, no matter what else is going on, is a gift. There are times in life when we look forward to doing something so much that the "doing" can't live up to the hype. But when I get to spend some time with Eileen it's like being served my favorite wine, savoring the color, swirling it around in the glass before I take that first cool sip. The taste is even better than the anticipation.

We walked along the shore last weekend, complaining and then chuckling at the little aches and pains we're starting to have, bitching about hot flashes, when-is-my-stupid-period-ever gonna-end, why do men get better looking and our butts just spread, and our latest common bond: asthma. She has issues with her siblings, I listen and try to counsel when asked. I have concerns about my kids, my parents, my bosses, and she does the same for me. I thought to myself at some point that day, "I get so lonely for someone to talk to sometimes. What's wrong with me? This is the friend I want to talk to! I just need to do it more often." It's such an obvious solution to those many nights when the phone doesn't ring. I simply have to dial and hear her voice --and we can pick up where we left off.

So I type these words and smile at the memories I've made with this golden girl, Eileen. If I were an artist and someone asked me to paint a picture of my sister, hers is the face I would paint against a sun-filled background. If she was a singer and was asked to write a song about friendship, I think she would write one that sounded part Motown-part Mozart and sing it from the heart. I am more at ease, more myself when I'm with Eileen and I think I give her comfort and complete acceptance. We are, in every sense, best friends. It doesn't get better than this.