That's what friends do

We both were brave as I drove her to the airport in the mid morning. It would have been o.k. to cry, but I’d rather not - we still had some chores to do and this was not the time. Traffic lights turned red forcing several stops along the way. A glance towards the passenger could have flooded the earth with tears, but I was determined to not get in her way like that. It’s not right to stop greatness with selfish motives. No doubt her exotic family was waiting, filled with anticipated longing, on the other side of the runway. They were balancing the world with their joy. Every thing was going to be all right.

Many years ago I had gotten teased into this relationship. She was like a nice shirt with a label that irritated a tiny piece of skin at the base of my neck. I could have removed the tag. I could have told her that I was not used to spending all my free time with another person - that I had other plans - that I needed to be alone. But there she was, on this lonely planet; thousand of miles away from all that was familiar, thousands of miles away from family, thousands of miles from a warm nest, just like I was. So I didn’t remove the tag - I just turned the shirt inside out, back to front. The irritating tag became a pendant, precious as if it had been passed on from generation to generation from the beginning of time.

She was 15 years younger than me. A little cub, gaily tumbling down a grassy slope on a sunny mountain spring morning; twinkling like the sun off the surface of the water; brilliant and comforting as stars in the stillness of the night. Her straight shiny black hair was short then, cut in a bob, level with her jaw. The shape of it accentuated the roundness of her face - a shape she would always giggle over. It hadn’t been what she had planned for herself, but there you have it. Her dress always reminded me of the nicer stuff some girls wore in the sixties, bold patterns, oversized buttons, material that had the look of polyester but probably was some silk blend. The clothes looked different, yet in a blue jeans culture of college students she’d always be the best-dressed person in any crowd. Looking sharp was not dependent on popular consensus, it was dictated by cultural habit and pragmatic options.

She needed to find another place to live and a room in our student house happened to be available. She checked it out, was content, and wanted to know when she could move in. “Tomorrow if you’d like," I joked. Done. The next day her old roommate helped her maneuver a funky futon, an old, dark, pine desk, a large particleboard bookcase, and a small, pukey-beige painted, two-drawer dresser through the narrow hallway into her new room. An advertising poster, that invited people to come and see scrumptious, exotic Thailand, and a large blue paper fan, decorated with a peacock, were hung for wall decorations. A striped, light colored K-mart rug was unrolled next to the spread out futon, and the job was done. Over the next four years only the futon would be replaced with a box spring and mattress, nothing else changed. She liked things uncomplicated.

She never spent much time in her room anyway. She never seemed to have any homework and my room suited her better, because I was in it. She was, by force of lonesomeness, going to be my personal little irritating mosquito. Buzz around me the minute she had parked her bike in the garage after coming home from school. I’d hear her determined footsteps walking passed her room towards the end of the hallway - my room. “LEESBETH”, her singy song voice would chant “Lets go take Hudd for a walk”, “Do you want to go shopping with me?” “Did you know that when frogs get born their development depends on the amount of water that is around them?” “Number One, did you check the damage to the main navigational reflector shield, our exhilarator generators are not responding as usual?” (My little Thai version of Jean Luc Picart from the US star ship Enterprise) “My advisor gave his kittens names of Thai spices, isn’t that cute!” “Leesbeth, what would you do if...” When Mullica came home all my activities were terminated. When Mullica was home I was “friend.” Period.

Before one year had passed she had build herself a new nest - one that was warm, nurturing, nourishing, comfortable, educating, fun, safe and inviting. Soon coming home had little to do with the place, and everything to do with Mullica’s presence. Who would ever want to be alone again if there was a Mullica around to spend time with? Over the years we found advise and trust with one another and took care of each other. We shared our silly adoration for an aging hound and marveled at the world together. In pushing for greater understanding we became each other's teacher and measuring stick. The mosquito turned out to be hero - life became a game. Who would have ever believed I could feel so safe in this lonely world.

On the day that she left, her shiny long black hair almost reached her butt. She was no little cub anymore. The twinkle in the eyes now belonged to a elegant woman, who in her five feet verticalness was her own axis mundi; PhD in her suitcase, ready to take on the world with skill and grace. The excitement to bring success to her waiting family brought joy to her packing. With unattached lightness and efficiency she had given away her few possessions and had shipped home the few items that were going to be part of her new teaching position. Life had been good the last few weeks. All pressures from the last four years of study had fallen away. Praises waved over her from all directions. Last minute purchases were made and gifts of friendship and farewell became colorful stuffers in suitcases. Thoughts of going home brought introspective daydreams and a kind of relief that could not be shared with anyone, least of all me. Time became a visceral feeling - sight and sounds attained a ‘never-again’ quality in her limited presence.

Airport rituals were routine after our ride there. Park the car, find the counter of the right airline, a short line, check in the two suitcases. “I bet you your mom will like those bath and body products”, “Oh yeah... and my dad is going to be so happy with those business cards” “You need to write me about their reactions” “Yeah I will.” One suitcase was too heavy - the other one was a little under. No, they could not be sent without paying the extra fifty dollars for the overweight suitcase. “FIFTY DOLLARS?!?!!”

Thank goodness, we got to be smart together one more time. In the middle of the terminal we opened the suitcases and started exchanging books, souvenirs, jackets, underwear and other items between them until they seemed to be equal in weight. The attendant sighed at our brazen pragmatism as we dealt with the gods of trivia. A look was all we needed for us to be bonded in smugness - we giggled as we felt smarter than all the suits who had come up with their fifty-dollar rules.

Having been given this dilemma we were saved from eternal seconds of discomfort, looking at clocks, at each other, searching for last words. Instead we got to put the cosmos back in order one more time and save fifty dollars in the process. What a team. With the second weigh-in the heavy suitcases passed regulation. The bound PhD dissertation, the Hershey kissed, lipsticks for mom, and fancy name labels for dad, already started their journey to Bangkok. The conveyer belt carried the now compliant suitcases past the rubber flaps though the hole in the wall, out to the airplane.

All that was left now was our walk to the guillotine. It was a short walk and if we said anything it was not very consequential: the pretty bougainvillea, the uniqueness of the little airport, keeping a sweater out in case the air-conditioning on board would be too cold. We were going to keep our nerves together with small talk as long as we could. Silently I hoped she would cry. I wanted to know she was as broken up about this as I was. I wanted to know that she loved me as much as I loved her. She was so much younger than me, and yet so often she had been the mother, the nurturer, the comforter, the authority on what was right, the wise one. She could possibly be above all this petty sentiment; relieved to turn her back on this stumbling mortal.

A short walk outside along the flower- bordered path from the reception area to the departure building; the section with the metal arch and the sign that would only let ticket holders proceed. The uniform beside the arch with a metal detector in hand, waited with bored authoritarian indifference; ready to deal with the dangers of keys, belt buckles and alarming jewelry. The executioner couldn’t possibly know of the pain growing larger than my throat could hold.

So there we were. No more small talk, no more smugness, no more phone calls at work, no more philosophizing, no more camping trips, no more giggles, no more black shiny hair growing longer and longer, no giggling eyes on the other side of the table, no more teasing the dog, no more bike rides to school together, no more planning, no more vegetable chopping together, no more figuring out the human race, no more star-gazing together, no more guitar playing on the couch, no more hikes in the hills or strolls on the beach, no more latest-greatest science talk. No more nest. A few more steps and heaven knows if I’d ever see her again.

Just a hug. Jesus she was tiny. Her head rested against my shoulder. I felt like an old clumsy giant as I stroked her long black hair and felt her young fragile body so close. It was a bit uncomfortable and awkward. Silly to feel that way after all these years. I mumbled something about being so proud of her. What is left to say after you’ve shared your joys and hopes, disappointments, dreams, struggles, frustrations, fears, and excitement with someone for four years? What could you give to someone so precious, when she already had all my admiration and my heart. She too was crying. How grateful I was for her sadness. It embraced mine and made it soft and bearable. As much as my love was flying with her to Thailand, I knew that her love would stay with me. We were even, and more than that: we had built each other stronger, perhaps strong enough to do without the other. That’s what friends do.