Five

Today we start five, which is important to note as I have clear memories of life at five, before that it's a bit foggy. There are bits and pieces, things that could have been before five, perhaps not, but five was kindergarten, and I do remember that. Mrs. Mularkey in her tweed skirts and sweaters, sock puppets and Chinese tea parties, and coming home to nap in the afternoon because I was amongst the youngest in the class. Five was life changing. Five is when Stephanie and I made snacks for our moms by gluing sugar cubes together. We hosted outlandish parties in our basement and put on quite a circus in the garage. We had "lemonade" stands in the summer but sold soft drinks as my dad was in bottling industry and encouraged us to push the packaged goods. We rode our bikes up and down the block, spent our evenings chasing bugs in the front yard and begged our moms for ice cream money when the familiar jingle bounced down our quiet suburban street. Her mom made the best grilled cheese sandwich I have ever had, still, and her cat, Snowball, attacked me on the front porch (I remain afraid of cats). Her younger brother was born, my dog got hit by a car and we were assigned to different kindergarten classes, a challenge we weathered quite admirably, huddling together to compare notes at the end of each day; always important to know if anyone threw up in afternoon kindergarten, or to make sure we were equally distant to the girl who stole my personalized pencils. Her parents got divorced, and she moved with her mother and baby brother to Atlanta, her father went to Michigan.

One year later we visited Atlanta, on our way to Florida. That was it, the last time I saw Stephanie. Five year old best friendships can be fleeting, but important. Even if only to remind me how absorbent five year old brains can be, how deeply things are felt and how wonderful it was to be five, if only for one year.