so long ago

it was so long ago when i thought i was small and you were big. i looked at your school books in amazement that i knew someone smart enough to read another language. at least a little. you told me that you didn't feel old, that in fact you were quite sure you would never grow up. but i knew better. i knew you had conquered more of life than i would live to see, and i marveled at your insight into life.

you were 23.

long driving trips on windy roads and poaring rain as you taught me how to steer your car, affectionately known as 'the boat'. i would open my bag of peach rings and you'd chew your sour candy. sometimes i was afraid to be your friend. i was afraid that you would look over and find a small, insignificant girl who was broken and confused and in desperate need for attention and you would decide i was too much of a burden to bear. but you always laughed at me when i said such things. "i'm just a small, broken girl myself." you said. "but you know what? i don't think that matters. i've already done so many things i never thought i would do. so will you."

i thought i'd never make it when you left. but i knew you were happy following your dreams, and i couldn't begrudge you that chance. i had already learned the heady sensation that came when staring down fears and believing in change.

i'm 25. i'd count out how old you are, but i'm already older than you were then so i'd prefer not to.

when you look down at your new baby and see yourself reflected in his eyes, that is when you will feel small. in his eyes you're invincible. and i still think of you as big and grown up.

it seems like a lifetime ago, but when we each get around to answering the phone the years fade away and i'm back in the "boat". you'll never be forgotten, my friend.

you would find it funny that my son just named my alligator "jorge".