I was delayed at work, then had to rush home to change. I knew they would wait for me. But still, I hate to be late for anything.
Especially late for this.
Tonight, my childhood friends were waiting for me in a predetermined place where we all piled into one car, four girls, eager for the night, ready for anything.
Well, maybe not anything.
Each month, we planned for the next month, taking turns choosing what we did. Every time it’s something different; we’ve never done the same thing twice. We saved weekends for our families and went out on weeknights instead, even though in the morning we each had to go to work. Friends since elementary school, these three women know all my secrets — all my good and bad.
Surprisingly, they like me anyway.
From one month to the next, we are busy living our best lives. So when our night out finally rolled around, we had a lot of catching up to do. We typically chatted about kids, made fun of our husbands and tried hard to forget the alarm going off early the next morning.
When I am out with the girls, time falls away and we turn back into our old, or rather, young foolish selves. Together, we are footloose and carefree, almost giddy to be out on a school night. All those years ago, we promised to be friends forever, even though we had no idea what forever would bring for each of us.
Life has a way of changing things even though you promise it never will. There is constantly something going on that stops you from spending time on yourself. Children, obligations and that never-ending thing called work offer you plenty of excuses. And, after all, how can you possibly fit another thing into your day?
Or your night.
Still, Carol, Brenda, Vicki and I promised each other we would be forever friends and a promise is a promise, not just something you say because it sounds good. And, forever is forever, not just while we were young and cruising on a school night.
So my friends and I have to work at finding time together. There is too much history, too many stories, too many secrets that bind us too tightly to let that go.
I’m riding shotgun that night, down Interstate 70. The radio was up, the stars were out and we had the whole night in front of us. There was no hurry; we felt no need to rush because time goes by fast enough on its own.
In the moving shadows of the interstate, I couldn’t see the ways the years have changed each of us. Gray hairs don’t exist, laugh lines disappear and worries float away in the night air. It felt like we were what we used to be, just a carload of girls cruising around on a school night.
We rode in silence for a while, and I could tell each of my friends was lost in time just like me, caught up in the motion of the car and the unshakeable feeling that we have been here before. We are girls out on a school night; forever friends never forgetting the promise we made forever ago. Since the third grade, I have laughed with them and cried with them, fussed at them and prayed with them.
Lord knows, I’ve had my hands full.
James Taylor was singing on the “oldies” station that night, and I turned in the front seat to look at the people that know me better than anyone. It’s times like this when I see my friends as their younger selves with bell bottoms low on their hips, their eyes full of dreams, and we are cruising on a school night where the only thing that matters is who you are with.
I turned up the music and started to sing.
You can reach Lorry at [email protected].
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