Dear T,
I like that we have run around in a field of Queen Anne’s lace on a remote island in Greece. I like that we have drawn eyeliner around our eyes to look like raccoons, while our noses grew red from the snowy air. I like that we have eaten brie with crackers at 3am and contemplated the fact that we were sitting on the kitchen floor while the cats were sitting on the chairs.
I LIKE THAT YOU HAVE ENTIRE CONVERSATIONS WITH ME IN ALL CAPS AND THAT NEITHER OF US QUESTIONS THIS STYLE CHOICE. I ALSO LIKE THAT WE BOTH CONSIDER OURSELVES EXTREMELY WITTY DURING THESE CONVERSATIONS. I LIKE THAT YOU TELL ME YOU ARE SO RELIEVED TO BE TALKING TO ME BECAUSE NO ONE ELSE LIKES IT WHEN YOU INSULT THEM.
I like that we can say things like “vertical sleeping spaces” or “I have a chicken in my car”, and burst out laughing. I like that we have a secret language.
I also like the way you describe events by the way they felt, not by the way they were. I like that we spent an entire evening trying to draw the outlines of our bodies with lights in the dark. I enjoy wading in public fountains with you, as well.
I like that we wrote a journal every single day we were in Europe, and I like that throughout all these months, the Microsoft Word file name was “these are travel notes on my profile so please don’t save as edit only by Em”.
I like that I actually remember the entire file name.
I appreciate the fact that you will run through soccer field sprinklers with me early in the morning, and then have long conversations sitting on the wooden planks of the playground.
I like that we rode the metro all through Athens, jumping off at any stop that sounded interesting. I like that we bought such a massive lunch at the grocery store that the hawkers gaped at us in astonishment.
I like that you were willing to put lotion on my crispy sunburnt back, and I like that we recorded a long video of us lying on our towels talking by the ocean, before realizing that our voices were not audible.
I like that you did a watercolour painting of a door on the road to the beach, and I like that I fell asleep in the grass by the side of the road while you did this.
I like that together we braved the Italian men who wanted to tell us sweet nothings. I like that we both thought it was hilarious they had toothbrush dispensers in the restaurant washroom. I like that we agreed the old man on the train to Naples looked like Professor X.
I like that we woke up past noon in Naples, ate two massive pizzas, and went straight back to bed. I like that we excused this behaviour by calling it a siesta.
I like that we compare how tan we are and feel jealousy if the other person is tanner.
I like that we can read the Bible together anywhere – on a beach in Greece, on a ferry to Bari, at a sun-filled breakfast table in Agerola, in a hotel room in Paris. On a pier in Berkeley, while the wind whips our skirts and the white sun fills our eyes.
I like that we get lost a lot, and that we can discover our location by looking at store receipts of things we bought. I like that we paint the backs of our cell phones with nail polish.
I like that eating raspberry gelato can abolish our bad moods. Incidentally, I like that I am not the only moody one in this friendship.
I like that we go to windy beaches and run in the sand with scarves. In the middle of winter. I like that you will pose for photos in front of graffiti that says “Eternal Cake.”
I like going to art museums with you and nodding knowledgeably while you rattle off complicated art terms. I liked our writing exercises sitting on opposite benches at the park full of green and sun, biting our pens and looking up at each other simultaneously, while we waited for inspiration.
I like that we go out dancing, even if The Guy in the Striped Shirt keeps trying to dance with us. I love getting breakfast at Little Cheerful and staring out the window at other people’s lives, while we dissect our own.
I like that you listen to me talk on and on about Jorge and how much I love him and miss him, without screaming and pulling out your hair. I promise I will try to follow the same behaviour with your future boyfriend.
I like that we create garbage bag dresses to keep our clothes from getting dirty, and that we can sit silent in a car and stare foolishly, while snowflakes land on the windshield and soft music hums in the background.
I like that you wear yellow sweaters and run in fields and twirl, and run, and run, and run, and I love that we can jump up and down hugging each other screaming “THANK YOU GOD!!” at the awesome everything of life. I love that you don’t laugh when I carry a container of cat food with me to use as a tripod.
I love that you never judge me and that you know when to hug me without saying a word. I love that you didn’t leave me alone when I wasn’t a Christian. I love that we both love God now, I LOVE that we both can talk about God breathlessly, words spilling into each other with smiles that can’t be confined by the shape of our mouths.
I love that we explore and find homeless people’s shelters, and that we see people rowing in bathtubs, and that we sit on railroad tracks to watch fireworks, and that we make sand turtles. I love sledding down little hills on your dad’s homemade sled, and I love being catapulted face-first in the snow and laughing with white eyelashes.
I like sitting on the edge of the water in our bright beautiful bikinis and tanned bodies, and feeling the sand start swooping back as a wave came in, and being unable to breathe as it hit our faces, and looking at each other and watching the colour of our laughter as turquoise as the Mediterranean, and letting the waves crash into us again. I like floating out deeper, trying to wash the sand out of our hair and our bikinis and our eyes.
I like that you’re way cooler than any other American I know.
I like that we write postcards to each other. I like that we write postcards to complete strangers.
I like that we will go to any lengths to get coffee, and I like that we have a Book in which we can dedicate a whole page to coffee.
I like that I didn’t mean to write this much, but it all came pouring out when I started typing. I like that you made me paper dolls of us.
Basically, I miss my best friend, and you are kinda amazing, and I want to be running down to a beach with you, sand flying behind our heels, collapsing on the sand and imagining shapes in the clouds. I want to go to Trader Joe’s with you and buy awesome food, and this time I promise I won’t kick the basket with the eggs. I want to eat chocolate and write in the Book Cubed, giggling over how funny we are. I want to run downtown and conduct an unofficial survey. I want to ponder deep life questions in ridiculous places.
We should eat Dairy Queen blizzards while parked in the middle of the road, and say dorky things like “this is how we oscillate!” We should sit on a park bench in Paris sharing headphones. We should put our feet up on the dashboard in the Olds, talking hysterically and eating French fries. We should camp out on a lonely beach and read scary mystery stories. We should make a fire and try to roast our Giant Marshmallow. We should play charades with a little kid in the camp next to us. We should book a hotel on the beach, just so we can take showers.
What I’m trying to say is, I miss you.
Sincerely,
Em.
