Mel and me, yesterday on the stoopIt's our farewell visit, but I can't really wrap my mind around it because it feels like every other day. Like every other day when the kids are running on pure bliss in the bedroom or snacking from a shiny silver bowl around the kitchen table, Mel and me sitting on red stools and talking of ordinary things as if they are not going to be on the other side of the world soon. She asks if I'm ready for the show tonight and I shrug, saying I haven't really rehearsed because we're playing it loose and making it up as we go on this one. She teases me a little, the way only people who really love you can. She tells me about what happened at the dentist office and we both feel that ache you get when you're worried about your little ones. I tell her I finally found a gift for my husband for Christmas.
I don't have many friendships that span all my many worlds. School/playground friends who are also artist friends who are also storytelling friends. Only this one, and I felt spoiled with it the whole time.
We're both travelers, and we know the hard parts about leaving like a recipe you've learned by heart. Maybe this is why we don't say the things that don't really need saying—like what a gift it's been to be together for this season. How nothing in the world is as good as red stools and snacks in shiny silver bowls and friendships that catch stories like What Happened at The Dentist Today.
We say, send me that picture, and, I'll email you that link. And, we'll see you soon on Skype. And when it's time to go, we go, even though it aches all the way home.
