Unlikely Pair

We met in geometry class my junior year.

Or should I say, we met at a party while partaking in substances I’d never want my students to know about.

“Hey, you’re in my geometry class!”

“Yes, I am.”

(Yep, I am that clever. )

“Doesn’t it suck?”

(Actually, I enjoyed geometry. But I had to work at it.)

Anyway, we were as different as night and day.

She was outgoing. I was shy. She was a leader. I was a follower. She was a doer, I was a thinker. She was a jock. I soooo was not.

But we clicked. And we haven’t stopped clicking.

She stuck with me during my first marriage, when everybody else stopped coming around. I didn’t blame them…my ex was intolerable.

But, she tolerated him for me.

She watched over me.

She was my baby’s “Godmother”…if Jews believed in such a thing. She’d drop everything at a moment’s notice if I needed a babysitter, and usually turned it into a big adventure. They’d go off to Chuck E. Cheese or the water slides or who knows what other fun thing she knew I could rarely afford to do with my daughter. They’re still very close.

She stuck with me when I ran to the city to hide from the abusive ex. asshole, never letting me forget she was only a phone call away if I needed her.

Then when I met Insideout, she supported me, too.

I found out later she had a little chat with him that basically went like this…

“If you hurt her, I will kill you.”

And I think he believed her, because she’s a tough cookie.

Though, I know she didn’t like me getting seriously involved with anyone so soon after the asshole, she did what she always did…she stuck it out and supported me. They have since become the best of friends, but it was touch and go for a little while. (Now, I think they talk more than she and I do, mostly because he pays closer attention to his phone.)

When we were running back and forth to Northwestern for my pancreas diagnosis, then surgery, and we needed a place to stay, she welcomed us with open arms. Her home is one of the few places in the world where I feel completely relaxed, completely myself. She made what could have been a very scary time, enjoyable. I think she was more scared than I was, and she spoiled me rotten.

And it’s funny. She said something like, “Gotta take care of my best friend.”

I had never really thought about it before, but that was the first time she’d ever said it. The words were never necessary.

But she loves me, thorns and all.

She never complained when the drain in my side leaked all over her couch.

“I don’t give a fuck.”

Or when my dog shed all over her truck.

“I don’t give a fuck.”

Or when my house is a mess.

“I don’t give a fuck.”

Well, you get the picture.

And, now, she’s on her way here, and the sun is shining.

Life rocks.


Authors note: I’ve blapped this here, and make no apologies for errors…it’s written from the heart. But, even though she won’t give a fuck my house isn’t clean (sorry, for the profanity, but that’s just who she is) her boyfriend might. They could be here any moment, and there’s a smudge on my picture window…