The Friend I Never Knew I Always Had

We were waiting in line to get flu shots. I don’t know who spoke up first. But it felt like that after we exchanged a few words, we were revisiting a conversation we had left off just moments before. It was as if we had somehow known each other all along.

I made a comment about how no matter how painless the shot, I will always get dizzy; the anticipation gets the best of me. I made a grimace that made her laugh. And then she told a joke I would have made myself. That’s when I knew she was much more than a stranger who just laughed at my contorted face. She was a creature of my own kind.

Talking to her was like walking at the same cadence. The end of each comment I made instilled a new insight for her. The endless undulation of conversation and understanding was easy and strangely familiar. Her presence was warm and inviting; I had the urge to tell her about myself in a way I would approach a friend I deeply trusted, but I had faith that somehow she would understand.

I complimented her necklace from which a single bead hung delicately against her collarbone. It so mesmerizingly accented her big chocolate eyes, and sea of dark hair that formed ringlets down her back. When she brushed lone strands over her shoulder, her sweet perfume brought me to a place of familiarity that I couldn’t articulate. It washed over me, evoking a nostalgic moment I never had.

The nurse called her first and then me just a moment later. She sat at a table ahead of me with her back facing me. I rolled up my sleeves and made small talk with a cheerful nurse. The girl peeked over her shoulder, and I forced a smile as I wearily watched the nurse suck the fluid into the syringe. My expression must have expressed blatant fear I have of needles as the nurse chuckled and asked if I easily get dizzy. I nonchalantly said, you could say so.

After what was an expectedly painless experience but a reminder of my uncontrollable fear of needles nonetheless, the nurse directed me toward the exit and told me to grab a piece of candy, because you deserve it, she said with a wink. I found the mystery girl scanning over the table of candy. She looked up at me in exaggerated contemplation over which off brand of candy she should pick.

We snuck a few extra pieces of candy and continued the conversation where we left off. It didn’t really matter what we were talking about, I was simply addicted to the fluidity of our conversation.

I noticed how she maintained eye contact, except when her gaze would follow my hand gestures. I noticed how the speed at which I spoke slowed, which only ever happened with people I was truly comfortable with. I noticed how she laughed with her eyes closed, and ran her fingers down the baby strands of hair next to her ear. I noticed how I began to subconsciously mirror the same movement.

She looked to her watch and cursed under her breath. We had been there forty minutes and she had to run back to work. My heart sank. We walked out the door together, pausing on the steps, making unnecessary bag checks to lengthen the amount of time it would take to leave.

We left the building, lingered a little more in front of the door before she finally waved to me and walked away. I smiled and said good bye, realizing that as she crossed the street, I didn’t know her name. I didn’t think about taking note when the nurse called her name because, in my gut, it felt as if I should have already known it. So as I watched the crowds of people swallow her up, I didn’t know who she was. We hadn’t exchanged any personal information or discussed any identifying qualities about ourselves. It had really just been an organic exchange of energy and companionship. I wasn’t sure if what we had experienced was a form of friendship, romance, a reflection of ourselves, or some nameless connection that I had never known before. But I would never see her again. And never really needed to.