Some odd months ago (September, gods–it was back in September, and I’m closer to the anniversary of it than I am to the actual moment), I sat down on a bench on the edge of the Boston Common next to a beautiful girl with enormous glasses and a troubled look on her face. She had a Marimekko bag, and I asked her if she’d gotten it in Boston, and whether or not there was a store in town. We’ve been friends ever since, and I make a point to think about her at least once a day.
In most ways, she’s nothing like me–we’re from different socioeconomic statuses, different educational backgrounds, different types of families, we espouse different (albeit somewhat more convergent than anyone realizes) interpretations of the space-between-spaces, we approach life from different perspectives–and yet, in other ways, we’re exactly alike. We both feel in extreme ways, wielding our emotions in a powerful sense, radiating and projecting it across time and space and, occasionally, the internet, sending jets of our own imagination shooting across information and other pathways. She’s become very dear to me in such a short time, in that way that people do when you want to know them and want to keep them close to you, and it all started when I asked a girl on a bench about her bag.
Meeting people is easy. I’ve always been good at it; fortunately for me, I’ve been blessed enough to meet some downright fun, interesting, respectable people, but also because I’ve always felt and functioned better when I had some kind of interpersonal context–that is, when I know there are people around sharing the same experience, that you-are-there-and-I-am-there-and-isn’t-this-nuts thing that I think is very much an Iowa thing. Most of the time when it happens, people tend to shrug it off (at least, outside my home state), give a token response and carry on with whatever special thing they’ve got going on in that moment. But sometimes, you get someone that actually shares that part of the experience, and you can see it in their face when they look at you that they realize they are there, and that you are where you are, and that it is pretty awesome and crazy and wonderful and beautiful to be there.
I can’t explain it, and I darn sure can’t say that’s what I thought I was getting into when I spoke to her, but I’m glad that’s what I got when I talked to that girl on that bench in Boston. I know I’ve said it before, but I’ll say it again: I have the best friends anyone could ask for, and I don’t deserve any of them, but I’m glad I have them.
Time’s up.
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