I remember her as the wild kid in class, with hair that looked like seagulls had flocked in it, wearing op-shop taffeta ball gowns with desert boots to school. She was funny, impressive and a little intimidating, and I wanted to be her friend.
She tells me she remembers me as this wide-eyed, confident girly-girl, wearing green cords with pink sneakers, hand in the air at every class, and locked into a small knot of similar swots and smart-arses. She liked me a lot, but didn’t know how to get things started.
A wise and insightful teacher put us together, literally, with a most direct instruction: “You two are going to like each other a lot – you should be friends.” He got a lot of things right, that teacher. This has to be his most brilliant accomplishment.
My friend has been in my life since we were 14, and this relationship has been and remains one of the cornerstones of my life.
I’ve had cause to reflect on friendships and meaningful connections recently, and my conclusion is this: that, like great marriages, great relationships are not “work”, and you don’t need to “work” at them, as people will admonish you, as you do a difficult job. Instead, like the most beautiful trees, they need tending and support in the early years, emergency interventions in times of stress or drought, and then they need simply the care that love naturally brings to grow in glory, season in and out.
I know several people who have maintained close and long-standing friendships through their lives, through challenge and change, and I know those who have not: those have, either through what felt like necessity or sometimes even survival, either cut down such a relationship or simply walked away from it and started another, often in another country or circumstance, often more than once. A part of me admires their single-mindedness: I am tribal in a way that is possibly not always helpful.