Someone wrote that, "Friendship is the comfort, the inexpressible comfort of feeling safe with a person having neither to weigh thoughts or measure words, but pouring all right out just as they are, chaff and grain together, certain that a faithful friendly hand will take and sift them, keep what is worth keeping and, with a breath of comfort, blow the rest away."
Tonight, on the ride home from Brian's football practice, I was thinking of this quote. There I was, standing in bare feet on the lush Irish green grass of the practice field, when a man crosses in front of me and catches my eye. I realize it is an old friend from high school and college days. It is P___. I call his name, he turns and grins and walks up to me as if I had just seen him yesterday.
I first met P___ in high school when a girlfriend and I said we were going ice skating and ended up at this rich kid's house for a party. My girlfriend had a crush on a guy who was friends with this group, and wanted to see if he was there. Of course he wasn't, as those things go. The party was at P___'s home - his father out of town. I was from a town south of Santa Rosa, but knew all to well who this crowd was. Their parents made Santa Rosa.
My parents made love.
These kids drove better cars than my parents and partied at a level that would have me sent to a convent. I was uneasy, but this was P___'s home, and with the famous political pictures (with his dad in the center), he seemed more like me than the stuffed taxidermy in the back room (from his dad's hunting trips to Africa).
He was kind and saw to it that I was comfortable and answered many questions about his house. He seemed matter of fact about it all. My girlfriend didn't stay long as we had set curfews, and left to go back to our homes. Homes, where our parents would never leave us alone in the car - let alone in our homes at night.
I would not see P___ again until college. In my spring semester at the JC, (my freshman second semester) I thought I was "all that". Sitting in my favorite English professor's English lit class, I look up as this guy walks in. He is late and has an "I could care less" look to him. He has on all white tennis clothes and is carrying a tennis raquet. He looks like the entire brat pack rolled into one guy.
He sat down in front. I smile to myself. I had no idea who he was, but he looked familiar. College has a way of evening out the playing field, and everyone becomes one big group of friends. We are suffering through the same tough classes, and the high school crap is gone. (This is because the people who ruin high school never go on to college).
The following week I hear his name during roll call. It dawns on me who he is. Childish me, I muse he is in my advanced english class because of who his parents are - not because he earned it. I ice skated with Charles Shultz's children who got Ferraris and Mercedes when they turned 16, I was sure life was easy for him and he got whatever he wanted.
Nothing could be further from the truth.
During the semester in that english class, we read many of our essays out loud. P___'s were good to my surprise. Through time spent in class, and around campus, we became aquaintence friends. I was impressed with our conversations - he was quite smart. He saw much of the world. He was fun and kind, more real than one expected by his upbringing. I had no idea how much our lives paralelled, but within a couple of years, I would find out.
I went off to Sonoma State, then to a marketing (Arts) college and began to manage a bridal shop in a small upscale mall. One Saturday, in walks this girl looking for a particular wedding gown. My shop didn't have it, but through the process of trying on gowns, and co-ordinating the wedding, we become instant friends. Then I find out, she's marrying P___. How ironic. Now I want to help her have her perfect wedding.
The wedding gown she wants is offered at the competing bridal shop in town. She tries to get the id number of the gown, so that my shop can order it, but can't seem to get the right information. I offer to go there with her, but tell her I have to go in disguise. I don't remember what we did to me, I think I wore her friend's glasses and some other stuff. We laughed our way through the store. I will never forget in the dressing room with the sample gown, turning it inside out so that I could write down all the information. We pretended like we were trying the dress on. She kept putting her hand over her mouth to contain her fits of laughter.
I was living with my college boyfriend by this time and call my mom to tell her of my latest "Cathi adventure" with this girl marrying P___ and the other bridal shop. We laugh, and then she tells me she is glad that he is getting married "after all that happened to him". "Like what?" I ask her. I have no idea why we have never discussed this before...
She goes on to say, "When P___ was in high school, the same time your own father was ill, his mother died in a plane crash. She was a wonderful woman, it was a shock to many. P___ was up skiing when it happened and his father went up to Tahoe to find him. He literally tracked him down at the top of a slope to tell him his mother was dead. It devastated P___". I was shocked, this explained so much. We had suffered the same...there was the connection.
I helped P___ and his wife have a beautiful wedding in the lush backyard of that house I had visited so long ago in high school. My college bf, Rich became good friends with P__, and the four of us would spend weekend afternoons at the family's beach house. I don't really remember how we all drifted apart, I left Rich Thanksgiving weekend of 1989, and P___ got divorced somewhere around that time. I went to work in the financial district of SF, and tried to leave Santa Rosa behind. I was determined not to live the life of George in 'It's A Wonderful Life".
The years go by too fast.
Flash forward to tonight, as I stood with my x husband watching Brian, when P___ walks by me. I shouted his name like a question, because it had been so many years. He turned, stared and then grinned, as I placed my hand on my chest and said, "It's Catherine". He has a great smile, and came right over. As it turns out, his second wife coaches the cheerleaders and he has a daughter that is one, and his son plays with Brian.
Who would have ever thoughtthat we would be standing together watching our kids play football? How cool. We stood, talked and talked, trying to fill in the missing years. He is content, really into being a dad. I am glad for him. We can't wait to watch our kids play. Sitting with him at the games will be a riot. We were already laughing over soccer parents. How I don't miss them...
Just when I am sure just how much I hate living here, I have a moment like tonight, where I run into someone who once played a part in my life. P___ looks at me as if I was still 23, with the same kind face. The one thing about living in the same place for years, there are those that know your history and treat you like a long lost distant relative. There is no judging, just an overwhelming joy that the other person is ok.
It's rather like finding an old favorite sweater that was misplaced years ago, and it still fits. He lost his mother at a young age, and was forever changed by it. I lost my father at a young age, and will never be the same. The pain of the experience changes you forever. It is like going through another door and there is no way back. Only those people like P___ who have experienced it, fully understand. Life takes on a different meaning. and no one can ever replace the loss.
Seeing P___ reminded me of all the good things I once loved about living here, and a time in my life where I had a lot of fun. He still admires me, and I still think of him as a friend. I don't have to prove anything, I can just be me. He can relax, and just be him. He is a construction guy now - so different from those white tennis clothes. When I told him that story of the first day of english class, he threw his head back and said "Oh God!", rolling his eyes and letting out a great belly laugh. Construction looks good on him.
Sigh, I am turning out to be George after all and...
Damn that x husband of mine...I am really enjoying these football practices.
Until next time-
C
http://journals.aol.com/rapieress/Aweekinthelife/
