I found the loves of my life before I was old enough to vote, or drive or smoke. I was one of the lucky ones. I found Angie first, but it took us years of running into each other in Girl Scouts, drill team and math class before we finally became best friends freshman year. Samantha found me sitting on the school bus when we were in fifth grade. I found Chelsea in ninth grade social studies class.
High school brought us together and made us a foursome. College tested our friendship. Sometimes we went months without talking, but we always found our way back to each other. After we graduated we made it our mission to become better friends again. The kind of friends that call each other constantly, gossip about cute boys and complain about our shitty jobs. This weekend, after almost a year apart, we came back together. We talked for two days straight. We ate too much junk food, drank too much alcohol, laughed until we couldn’t breathe and cried until we started laughing again.
A year has gone by, but we all managed to stay the same. Samantha is still the silly flirt who says outrageous things without meaning to. Chelsea has the most infectious laugh and the best stories. Angie is the mom of the group. She keeps us on the same page and always gives the best advice. And I’m the one who always has a sarcastic comment and her calendar open. (Someone has to be the planner in this crazy group.)
To avoid sounding like a Hallmark card, I must include some quotes from our weekend. What can I say; my friends and I say the craziest shit.
On the road again
Sam: First Choice? That’s the name of a hair salon?
Me: It sounds like an abortion clinic.
Making fun of Chelsea’s inability to check her calendar
Sam: Sorry I forgot it was Homecoming weekend.
Me: Sorry I forgot my roommates hate black people.
Sam: Bitch you know what, she’s half black!
Raging alcoholism, party of four
Chelsea: Do you want anything to go with your tequila?
Me: A cup.
Ask Angie
Angie: I think it’s an awful idea.
Me: I think your hair looks awesome.
Wow, I can get sexual too
Angie: Suck my tit until it lactates.
Me: Pussy this, pussy that, hit me with a baseball bat.
Sam: You’re not making out with me tonight.
Me: I’m titty fucking myself with this necklace.
We’re disgusting
Me: My cold sore is crusty.
Chelsea: Remember that time we toilet papered their house and I shit on their driveway?
(Now that I’ve totally appalled you with my friends’ frat boy humor, I can go back to being sentimental.)
The high light of the weekend was Saturday’s dinner. We crowded into a booth at a local pizza parlor. Over two large pizzas and four glasses of wine, we talked about what we hate in our lives. Sam, Chelsea and I hate our jobs. Angie hates one of her bitchy coworkers who made her cry. We talked about what we love in our lives. I love eating dinner with my parents. Sam loves her boyfriend. Chelsea loves being on her own. Angie loves her big girl paycheck.
We talked about our hopes and dreams. I hope I move to New York. Sam hopes she finds a job she loves. Chelsea hopes she gets accepted to grad school. Angie hopes she gets a date with the cute doctor at her hospital. We all hope for marriage, children, and homes. We hope that when we have kids, we do as good a job as our parents did. “I hope I’m like my mom when I’m older,” Angie said. We all went quiet. Angie’s mom passed away more than a year ago, and we all miss her. She was a mom to all of us.
We made countless toasts. Some we’re silly (“To jobs that pay!”) Some we’re expected (“To being back together after a year apart!”) With only a sip of wine left in each of our glasses, I raised my glass one more time. “A toast to Angie’s mom,” I said, doing my best to get the words out. “She is reflected in Angie every day.” When the waiter came out, we all had tears in our eyes. Instead of making the moment even more awkward, he made a joke about our ability to devour two large pizzas. We all laughed. Then he brought us the last piece of tiramisu.
As we left the restaurant, I fell behind my friends. Our heels hit the pavement at the same time. That’s the thing about soul mates: Whether it’s been a month or a year, you always manage to fall in step.
- You three are the loves of her life. Any man is just lucky to come in second. [Mr. Big]
