Holey Hearts
I've been thinking about Meg today. I call her Meggie, she calls me Monkey. Long story.
When I was young, my family moved a lot. About every 2 years, I'd say. It was no picnic trying to make new friends just in time to move on. It gets harder the older you get because the others have constructed a collective history and you just don't get the jokes, you don't know the stories and you're not one of them. Even when everyone is kind and inclusive, you know you're not quite there, and you know you'll be saying goodbye, anyway.
I moved to Enid in 1974 and it was, by far, my toughest move. The other children made fun of me for every "infraction," not the least of which was my northern accent. Frankly, I couldn't see how someone who thought "y'all" was a pronoun could dare make fun of me, but they did anyway. The taunting usually drove me to tears, which created more fodder for their tortuous ways.
Then there was Meg. Seldom does one find such a friend, with whom time together is completely at ease. One minute you're acting ridiculous, but you can shoot straight into serious issues. With Meg I was myself. We were two peas in a pod. Neither of us was really like the other girls. Meg liked to investigate how things worked by taking them apart and putting them together. We both liked exploring nature, going to church, learning to play the French horn...that sort of thing. We didn't have posters of teen heart throbs and we didn't obsess over the latest fashions. I suppose we were odd ducks. But we were odd together.
Our move to Enid proved to be my last childhood move, but in a sad twist of fate, Meg's first move came just a few years after we met. She was off to Kentucky, leaving me behind to fend for myself. I don't think I've ever gotten over it. I still remember standing in the street watching them drive away in their paneled station wagon, hot tears streaming down my face. They're falling right now, as a matter of fact.
Meg's leaving wasn't the first or last hole torn out of my heart, but it certainly was one of the largest. The scar remains. Happily, the friendship remains, too...but distance steals away the everyday contacts. I suppose if it weren't for moving, I would never have met Meg, but I'm still mad at moving.
I've been thinking about Meg today. I call her Meggie, she calls me Monkey. Long story.
When I was young, my family moved a lot. About every 2 years, I'd say. It was no picnic trying to make new friends just in time to move on. It gets harder the older you get because the others have constructed a collective history and you just don't get the jokes, you don't know the stories and you're not one of them. Even when everyone is kind and inclusive, you know you're not quite there, and you know you'll be saying goodbye, anyway.
I moved to Enid in 1974 and it was, by far, my toughest move. The other children made fun of me for every "infraction," not the least of which was my northern accent. Frankly, I couldn't see how someone who thought "y'all" was a pronoun could dare make fun of me, but they did anyway. The taunting usually drove me to tears, which created more fodder for their tortuous ways.
Then there was Meg. Seldom does one find such a friend, with whom time together is completely at ease. One minute you're acting ridiculous, but you can shoot straight into serious issues. With Meg I was myself. We were two peas in a pod. Neither of us was really like the other girls. Meg liked to investigate how things worked by taking them apart and putting them together. We both liked exploring nature, going to church, learning to play the French horn...that sort of thing. We didn't have posters of teen heart throbs and we didn't obsess over the latest fashions. I suppose we were odd ducks. But we were odd together.
Our move to Enid proved to be my last childhood move, but in a sad twist of fate, Meg's first move came just a few years after we met. She was off to Kentucky, leaving me behind to fend for myself. I don't think I've ever gotten over it. I still remember standing in the street watching them drive away in their paneled station wagon, hot tears streaming down my face. They're falling right now, as a matter of fact.
Meg's leaving wasn't the first or last hole torn out of my heart, but it certainly was one of the largest. The scar remains. Happily, the friendship remains, too...but distance steals away the everyday contacts. I suppose if it weren't for moving, I would never have met Meg, but I'm still mad at moving.
posted by Jan at 3:08 PM
1 Comments:
There you go again, catching me off guard..... putting life back in perspective for me, reminding me that I am someone more than just a Mommy to my kids, and that there's a lot more to life than the current crisis at hand (right now my twins have nasty colds, my son keeps threatening to throw up again, and I STILL haven't finished my thank you notes from Christmas -- heck, we just took down the tree last night for goodness sakes!). Thanks Jan, you're a sweetheart and I think the world of you -- you're the most loyal friend a girl could ever have and I'm lucky to have you!!
love, meggie
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