My oldest friend, meaning the friend I’ve known the longest and not necessarily the most aged, just spent two days here. We wined and dined and even shopped a little. But what we did most was talk. We have over five decades of friendship to recall; in fact, next year we will celebrate the fiftieth anniversary of our graduation from eighth grade.
One afternoon we tried sitting on our deck, even though the weather was brisk. But we bundled in an old quilt that once belonged to Earl’s mother and turned our backs to the wind to revel in the beauty of late spring and our being together.
We heard the back door creak and Earl came to join us. He was carrying a framed photo Carol had given me about ten years ago. It showed the two of us as children in summer clothing, arms around each other, innocent and smiling. I keep this photo in my kitchen and look at it often.
Earl stood in front of us with the framed photo, looking first at it and then at us. I think I remember him saying, “Nope, you two haven’t changed a bit.” Then he went and got his camera and took an updated photo of Carol and me holding the framed one. I’m eager to see it.
The truth is both of us have changed. We’ve experienced marriage and children and careers and the death of parents together. We’re both retirement age. We’re no longer innocent. But as Earl’s picture will reveal, we still have our arms around each other. And we’re still smiling.
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