Soul Mate

     We were friends, long-time friends, soul mates, sisters in friendship, blessed with proximity. I could see the light in her bedroom; she could see the glow from the fireplace in our living room. I heard her dad leave for work at 7:22 am every morning, exactly 7:22 am, not earlier, and never, ever later. I heard the roar of his Mustang (1965, pristine condition, not a scratch on it, etc., etc.), heard the solid slap of the garage door meeting the pavement, and the final squeal of his departure. Then it was quiet, and the whole neighborhood took a breath and relaxed.

    We never talked about her dad--or the weight of fear or . . . what is the word? the right word? Trepidation? The caution of living with, with what? Not exactly fear, but close: worry? anxiety? Even I knew that a wrong word or glance could set him off. We never talked about it. I couldn't, wouldn't. The contrast was too sharp, too painful--my dad was calm, quiet, sweet, and, I know now, shy...but hers?

    Well, we never talked about it.

    It was the light in her bedroom that I waited for each morning. It blinked on a minute after the departing roar of the Mustang, and then I knew she was up, getting dressed, brushing her teeth, the routine begun, and soon I would knock on her door--or she mine (our morning competition--who would be first.) Once we nearly collided, both of us sprinting to the other's door--then fell on the ground laughing at our near collision, at the synchronicity, at the unspoken competition to be first up, out, and at the other's door.

    That's how we became friends, best friends, best friends forever, even though she moved, then I did, both of us living somewhere else, but the old threads that bound us were strong, never broken, and kept us connected.

                                                               ~

    Well, now she's gone. It is so like her, to go first, to be the independent one, to open the door and, head held high, step through, final destination unknown.

    But her light still shines, and I now believe, no, I know, we will meet again. She will be glad to see me, as she always is, and will take particular delight in showing me around. I'll nod, follow her, and, eventually, forgive her for going first.