When I was maybe 5, one of my best friends was Jennifer. (There were a million Jennifers in every class I was ever in, this was Jennifer M.) She lived a block-and-a-half over in a house with a turret. I thought that was so cool.When we were 8 or so she and her family moved to Germany, because her dad worked for Gillette and they sent him there. She lived in a town called Bad Saden and I thought that was the perfect name for such an awful place, taking my friend away.
When I was in 5th grade, I became “best friends”– for a while– with Candace-Leigh. Candace had all the cute clothes and knew about boys (me, neither of those things), but she was also really smart, and so we were in the same groups at school. We did lots of projects and book reports together. She lived about a half mile away, but I was allowed to bike way further than that by then. Her family had a pool. We would spend all day at the beach and then all day at the pool. On the same day.
In 6th grade, Jennifer moved back to town. I was so excited for these two friends to meet each other.
They showed each other their gymnastics moves, compared notes on boys and clothes, and proceeded to become best friends.
And I…. wrote about it. I distinctly remember feeling kind of detached from it. I wrote about how connecting the two of them felt… right.
When I spend time thinking about what I want to be when I grow up… or, more so, when I spend time wondering about the amazing and varied and episodic experiences that I have thrown myself into, then, for one reason or another, moved on from… I keep bumping against the concept of a catalyst….
Mulling that one over…