The years have gone by and we’ve gone separate ways and we’ve little in common n ow, but we’re still an intimate part of each other’s past. And so whenever we go to Detroit we always go to visit this friend of our girlhood. Who knows how we looked when our teeth were straightened.
Who knows how we talked before our voice got un-Brooklyned. Who knows what we are before we learned about artichokes. And who, by her presence, puts us in touch with an earlier part of ourself, a part of ourself it’s important never to lose.
“What this friend means to me and what I mean to her,” says Grace, “is having a sister without sibling rivalry. We know the texture of each other’s lives. She remembers my grandmother’s cabbage soup, I remember the way her uncle played the piano. There’s simply no other friend who remembers those things.”
What this friend means to me and what I mean to her?
4. Crossroads friends. Like historical friends, our crossroads friends are important for what was—for the friendship we shared at a crucial, now past, time of life. A time, perhaps, when we roamed in college together; or worked as eager young singles in the Big City together; or went together, as my friend Elizabeth and I did, through pregnancy, birth, and that scary first year of new motherhood.
Crossroads friends forge powerful links, links strong enough to endure with not much more contact than once-a-year letters at Christmas. And out of respect for those crossroads years, for those dramas and dreams we once shared, we will always be friends.