Where should I begin?
I guess I could go all the way back, back to the day I got dressed up in a pretty pink dress, walked into the hospital room and saw you, red and wrinkly, sleeping in a little, clear crib.
I guess I could start there, but our story is not really linear. It, like our life, has peaks, valleys and plateaus. There are years where we are so inseparable that we literally spend every minute of free time together, and there are years where we drift independently towards our own paths. The funny thing is, that the more screwed up our lives are, the closer we become – it’s like the universe’s reward for making us miserable.
Like when Dad was sick – our friends were too young to get it and the adults didn’t know how to deal with us; one minute we’d act far beyond our years and the next minute we’d regress back to playing Barbie dolls. So, we stuck together and seamlessly weaved in and out of childhood and adulthood.
After Dad died, we clung tighter to one another. We accepted our strange grieving methods – my obsessive cleaning and your obsessive hoarding seemed to balance out. During those first few years, we were completely inseparable. We closed ourselves off from the world and enjoyed a land of make-believe, Hogwarts and Central Perk coffee.
But then time passed. We began to grow up and the strangest thing happened – we started to expand our teeny, tiny, exclusive circle; we started making friends. We started taking our own paths and stumbling to create our own identities. It was wonderful, amazing and normal, but it meant that our time, our identity, was slowly being chipped away. Of course, we still considered each other to be best friends, but Friday nights often found me on a date and you with your friends.
Things are different now, we live under different rooves and travel our own paths. But, we still talk almost every day and are still making all our grand plans. Whenever life gets tough, we, like clockwork, retreat from our outer circles back to one another. While we may let others into our lives, you and I always remain a constant.