On a shelf in the corner of my living room rests a picture frame with an old photograph: A gaggle of gangly girls posed cheerfully alongside a creek. Several squint through wire-framed glasses, a couple of smiles glitter through the wiry confines of braces and ankle socks set the scene. And everyone in the picture sports a matching tie-dyed T-shirt.
These are my friends. Another picture, displayed nearby, portrays the people we became: significantly less awkward and markedly more fashionable.
Over the years, we sold Girl Scout cookies together, commiserated about our “out-of-touch” mothers and tended each others’ broken hearts.
In high school, we labored over chemistry and Spanish homework together. They conducted speed reviews when I showed up for school, on many occasions, having forgotten about major tests. They offered their own, meticulously crafted statistics notes when seemingly inescapable fits of “narcolepsy” rendered mine illegible.
After graduation, we kept in touch, one in Abilene, one in San Antonio, and a couple remaining in College Station.
They mailed care packages and letters to me. We didn’t call often, but when we did, the conversations lasted from 45 minutes to an hour each time. And our Skype sessions always bordered on marathon.
Every long break, we tried to organize a reunion trip. We visited Galveston, San Antonio and even the tiny, historic town of Jefferson, carefully guarding the time and knowing that each trip, with our lives becoming busier and more distinct, might be our last – for a while, at least.
This year, we’ve faced another transition: our futures. And slowly but surely, they are falling into place.
Kathryn graduated in December – a semester early – and now discusses wedding plans with her long-distance boyfriend. Rebecca accepted a job in public relations with a company in Chicago. And Renee, a studious chemical engineering major, has offers to attend graduate school at Ivy League institutions across the country. She has spent the last two months visiting each university, every program trying to convince her to attend.
I was the last piece of the puzzle. My graduate school applications were submitted. And a Fulbright scholarship application, promising an English teaching assistantship in eastern Europe, floated in the uncertainty. I hung in limbo, not knowing on which continent I would end up, let alone a city or state. The possibilities ranged from Portland, Ore. to College Park, Md. to Bulgaria.
And I had no guarantees.
The verdict finally came in the shape of an oversized envelope, sitting in my mailbox on Thursday morning. I would be venturing farther in the next year, than anyone in my immediate family previously had dared move.
I texted the news to my friends and family. Amid reading their congratulatory responses, I tried to take deep breaths and still my shaking hands.
Reading Renee’s celebratory response, she had queried, “Guess who’s coming to visit you?” And I knew: If anyone would, if anyone could come visit me, it would be her and the rest of our friends.
Just as they had held my hand through intermediate school, then middle school, then high school and, now, college, they will continue to support me from thousands of miles away.
For me, the old proverb hits home. “Hold a true friend with both of your hands.” I will, because they have. And I remain forever grateful.
