I found a letter in my drawer. It’s four pages long. It was signed as follows:
The letter outlined the next few months for one of my oldest friends: her impending wedding; her honeymoon to Puerto Rico; and her reluctant acceptance that she would live 15 minutes from her future in-laws.
Just holding the envelope made me smile, because we used to live 30 minutes away from each other. A simple text or email would’ve sufficed at the time, but our relationship has always been unique. We have the type of friendship where we see each other maybe once a year. We’ve had dry spells, periods of time where we forget to stay in communication with each other. Then out of nowhere, she will text me as if we just had a conversation yesterday. Not a “hey!, how are you?”, but a “whatcha doin?” or my personal favorite, “wazzaaaa.”
When you meet someone one like that, it’s the greatest thing in the world.
And somehow, our relationship just works. Reading the letter, however, was bittersweet in the moment. It was so crazy to accept that my friend, who I had shared nearly a decade of friendship with, was going to be a “mrs.” and not a “ms.” anymore. With that title came certain obligations, the first of which was moving to Georgia. She always hated New York, so she was ecstatic about leaving — minus the in-law part. Me, on the other hand? I couldn’t share the same sentiment. We rarely had the opportunity see each other when we were just a few train stops away. I thought to myself...what’s another 750 miles going to do to our friendship?
Would it tear us apart? Would we stop talking altogether?
The answers to those questions worried me, but it's been nearly two years since she left. She still messages me and we talk in exactly the same way we did in middle school. I should've known better than to worry. After all, our friendship has always stood the test of time. Now I'm certain it will also stand the test of distance.
