Saturday, August 7, 2010

When Love Calls, You Better Answer.

It’s no secret that I don’t like talking on the phone. Honestly, I probably only answer about 20% of my daily received phone calls. This morning, at 2am, my cell phone rings. In my world, anyone that dials my phone during what I call “The Sin Hours” must be delivering bad news. I braced myself to hear crying on the other end.  I looked at the Caller-Id. It was my life long best friend…the same woman who annually cries at “Snoopy Come Home” and the change of seasons.  I took a deep breath because I knew, without fail, she would be wailing and sobbing through whatever tragic news awaited me.  I answered by saying her name and she immediately responded by saying mine. This is how we’ve greeted each other since our telephones were mustard yellow and attached to the wall in our parent's kitchen with a cord that always got stretched and twisted into knots. She wasn’t crying! Turns out she was having some transportation issues and needed me to take her to New England six hours later.  No problem.

See, this is my best friend since the first day of the first grade. Our desks were arranged in a horse-shoe and we sat across from each other. She stuck her tongue out at me and I rolled my eyes at her with that exaggerated flair and neck twirl that every little ghetto girl in 1975 had mastered. We have been life long friends ever since.

The ride to New England included over 300 miles, two pockets of traffic, one missed exit and zero moments of silence. We yapped non-stop. Two women with 35 years of friendship under their belts in a car without her teenage girls needing her permission to do something or my pre-teen boys needing my assistance in locating a jockstrap, cleat or mouthpiece. We spoke of love found and love lost.  Loved ones we have buried and skeletons we dug up. We finished each others sentences.  She has a habit of saying to me mid-story, “Kasandra, what am I about to say?” and with 95% accuracy, I can iterate her exact thoughts.   We speak a secret coded language developed during adolescence as a way to exist as rebellious teens under the watchful eye of strict West Indian parents, grandparents and older siblings.  Our secrets run deep! She used to receive letters  at her address for me from one of my suitors circa 1991 that I needed to keep sheltered from my then boyfriend.  (Remind me to get those letters.) There is immeasurable comfort in knowing that every word out my mouth will find a sacred safe space in her ears. Our friendship is not ordinary. I believe it is ordained. Her superstitious, extra artsy and super emotional ways drive me crazy. In return, my black and white, lack of patience and dismissive nature grates her every nerve.  But we accept each other as we are and have 35 years of unconditional love to our credit to prove it. 

Now truth be told, I had to drive 300 miles round trip yesterday. I was /am tired. My plan for today was to prepare for a guest I have arriving next week…not drive another 300 miles. However, today’s journey was a great reminder that God blessed me and trusted me with a rare gift of friendship at the tender age of five. He gave us both the wisdom and the proper tools to nurture and sustain it to the end of our natural days.  So while I will continue to ignore the vast majority of calls that come to my phone, today was the perfect reminder that when love calls, you better answer.

Walk good,

If I knew how to give a blog post a theme song, this would be it.

1 comment:

  1. "Snoopy Come Home" is a sad ass show. It gets me tearing up every time!