Going Back

When I was 3 years old, I started Pre-K at Court Street Academy in Portsmouth, VA. I met a friend in that class named Rebecca. We cemented our friendship by swinging on the swings and singing "Kiss on List" every day. We spent 2 years of kindergarten together before my family moved back to SC. Somehow, Rebecca and I stayed in touch. We wrote letters back and forth. Rebecca held onto one of these letters. It was typical little kid writing- big and messy. It read, "I hope we move bake soon." There were of course no plans to move back to VA, but as a little kid I didn't know that.

Once my family had a cookie jar that was shaped like a gingerbread house. My sisters and I collected all the change in the house and put it in that jar. It was for a return trip to P-town. And one magically day, we found $100 bill in the bottom of the closet. My mom let us add that to the jar, so we finally had enough money to make a road trip back. We piled blankets on the floorboard and that was where middle sister rode. My oldest sister got the backseat. I sat in the middle of the front with my parents. I remember wondering, "Why does my dad always get my feet but my mom always gets my head?" We drove the 7 hours, which seemed forever away.

We stayed with old friends. We saw our old places. My sisters even got a tour of our old home. Our home was a 3 story pink house in the historical district. It had 2 sets of stairs- one curly and one straight. It had a big tree with a rope swing in the backyard. I used to put on my Wonder Woman underoos and my buddy Mitchell used to wear his Spiderman underoos. We would swing on those ropes for hours. I am still hoping underoos will make a comeback while my kids are young.

I visited Rebecca during this visit. She didn't know I was coming. I gave her a Christmas present. She didn't have one for me. She quickly scratched someone's name off a poster with 3 puppies and added my name. I kept that poster in my room for years.

As Rebecca and I got older we continue to write letters and we started making long-distance phone calls. Her parents let us talk for as long as we liked. My parents cut me off after 30 minutes. We also started spending a week at each other's houses in the summertime. These visits were a year in between, so it would always take a couple of days to warm up to each other. About mid-week though, we would find ourselves either curled up on the couch or snuggled in bed telling stories.

We would take turns telling stories about when we were little, each time adding details. Over the years, we told those stories so many times they were no longer Rebecca's memories or my memories, but they were our memories. I can't remember which ones I actually remember and which stories I have heard so many times it is just a part of me.
Next weekend, Rebecca is getting married and I am traveling back to stand up beside her. I get to give a speech about her. I am still not sure how to sum up our friendship, make her feel how special she is to me, make people laugh and toast her new husband all in 2-minutes. I am sure the folks working out with me in the gym are tired of hearing me practice my various speeches. I get the chance to express my love for her to her. And for that opportunity I am glad.