Sometimes, when you've had a week that steals your thunder and kicks your soul around a bit, when you're tired and cranky and in need of a good mental hug, an old friend lands at an airport only an hour away, and you scurry off to retrieve her.
And you find, in no time at all, that even though you now live 1,000 miles apart, when you used to sleep 10 feet from one another, time and distance mean very little to people who are the best kind of old friends. Because even though it's been almost 30 years, and you look very different and you lead very different lives, what made you friends when you were assigned to one another in Room 222 binds you to one another to this day.
And it doesn't matter if you find yourselves in Boulder, San Francisco, Kansas City, Chicago or Michigan, all you need is a stack of books, some old photographs, and a nice sunny spot to sit and be together.
She finds, in studying the bookcases and asking about the art work, that this version of her old friend is strikingly similar to the one she knew so well so long ago. Although when snooping in the pantry she finds basmati where they used to be Minute Rice, and Dijon where they used to be none, but it's been 30 years, and we've all grown up a bit.
And after three days she leaves, her work here done. We go back to lives 1,000 miles apart, which is quite a bit more than 10 feet, but distance is nothing when you are the best kind of old friends.
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