Where a book may lead you
To a tiny bit of memoir
I’m reading Tom Lake by Anne Patchett. I reached a passage where the girls and mom are discussing what was the happiest day of her (mom’s) life. I paused, thinking about what might be the happiest day of my life. I cannot say. I’ve had many happy days; my wedding day, the day I was reunited with my sister after 10 years apart, the day my husband and I moved to New Orleans to begin our adult life together, other days not so momentous but, really, just ordinary days when I (& we) touched perfection for a minute, hour, day.
A thread in the book is about friends who lived together for a summer, shared a common love (theater), and how the summer unfurled in ribbons pulling them together and apart. It’s making me think about friendship, too, in terms of happiness. Thinking about it, I realize I’ve had four real best friends. A “Best Friend” might be defined differently by some but, to me, it’s trust and a mutual feeling of comfort with each other that defines a best friend. Four. In my life so far, not counting my husband.
My first best friend was Tammy who lived down the dirt road I lived on as a small child. (I wrote about that place here.) We rode the school bus together to first grade and for the following three years. We played together on the hills and in the woods of beautiful Ohio. We sang Beatles songs on the bus but usually listened more to the eighth grade girls sing them. They were so grown up! Looking back, it was wonderful to be so innocent and so happy.
Next was Ramona (Mona) in Mississippi. We were preteens in the late 60s/early 70s who loved clothes and sometimes dressed alike in outfits my mamma made for us. Mini(ish) skirts, blouses, long vests. I remember the colors and feel of the velvety red vest fabric and how much nicer Mona looked than chubby me. It was ok, though, because I adored her. I loved spending the night at her house where riding her minibike on dirt roads was wild and free. No helicopter parents - yay! We loved Creedence Clearwater Revival and danced with abandon to their albums. For a while we had boyfriends who were cousins and we’d meet them at the movies on Friday nights, sneak out to the alley next to the pool hall and kiss like we knew what we were doing. We shared everything, our hopes and dreams, our insecurities about growing into women, everything. We lost touch when she moved to Jackson and didn’t communicate for years. Then, one night at a concert (ZZ Top, I think) she spied me in the crowd. Amazing! That was one of the happiest days. We still stay in touch.
In high school, Paula was my best friend. Paula was funny as hell, always happy, and always up for shenanigans. She and her boyfriend (later, husband) and me and my boyfriend (now husband) double-dated all the time. We had a lot of really happy times together.
She was my matron of honor. Paula died in June 2022 and I think I had a premonition of her death when I happened on the poem “To Paula in Late Spring” by W.S. Merwin. It gave me an indescribable feeling and I put a copy in my journal only to find out in a few days about her death. It’s a strange thing when your high school bestie dies.
In my twenties, after I moved to New Orleans, I met Ilene. We became fast friends right from the start. I had never met anyone quite like her. She was very independent, very outgoing, very beautiful. She had a charisma that drew everyone to her. She loved to shop and we went on many shopping trips around the city and on the road. It was nothing for her to decide we should take a road trip to check out a shop she heard about or try a new hair salon which was actually my first trip to Baton Rouge. We had a blast together all through the 80s into the 90s until she moved across the Lake (Ponchartrain) when we slowly lost touch. We still talk every once in a while but across the Lake might as well be across the country. Our lives took different directions and for that I’m sad. I miss her and our ramblings.
I love a novel that reads like real life, the interplay between people, their challenges, sorrows, and triumphs. A book that makes you think and remember events from your own life is truly a gift. I wonder what the rest of the book will spark.