Letting Go
The following story from my teen years is dedicated to all those who have graduated or who are going through a life transition:
She called me on the phone out of the blue. I didn't even know she was home from college. I hadn’t seen her for almost two years. I hadn't spoke to her for over three months. Hearing her voice again and knowing that it came from only four blocks away as opposed to 1200 miles rekindled something within me. She was my best friend since I was thirteen. During those years we had countless late night talks and walks around Clayton, NJ, the small town where I am from. We also had many adventures that you would not believe if I told you: Getting lost, scary moments, hysterical mishaps. I laughed, cried, wondered, and talked more during those years than I could think possible now. Through it all we struggled through questions of faith, rebellion, future and friendship. It hurt when she left for Bible College. I remember feeling like my heart was torn out. I remember feeling bad enough to tell my best friend, but I couldn’t. She was gone. I went on with life as usual in Clayton, while she was surrounded by new places, faces and quickly making new friends.
Now, one wintry night in 1986 she was back home. I wondered if things would still be the same. We agreed to meet in the graveyard; strange choice I know, but while Clayton had plenty of wide-open spaces, none of them were public and the closest thing to a park was the town graveyard. When I was younger the youth group that we all went to would meet and even play there after our meetings. The guys loved scaring the girls and we all loved the adventure of it. As I left my house and began walking down Center Street, the snow was falling at a slow and peaceful rate. No sounds could be heard except a light wind and crunch of snow beneath my feet. As I approached the graveyard I recognized her familiar walk as she came from the other direction. We never did have to wait for one another. We always arrived at the same time.
We embraced and exchanged the usual sentiments and began to stroll around the cemetery. Underneath the tall snow covered pine trees, we tried to catch up on conversation, but to my surprise, talking did not come easy. There was a time when we talked for six to eight hours without even realizing it, now, suddenly, one minute seemed to last for hours. We had to work to talk, work to laugh…we had to work. I think we both quietly wondered if the life between us ceased.
She called me on the phone out of the blue. I didn't even know she was home from college. I hadn’t seen her for almost two years. I hadn't spoke to her for over three months. Hearing her voice again and knowing that it came from only four blocks away as opposed to 1200 miles rekindled something within me. She was my best friend since I was thirteen. During those years we had countless late night talks and walks around Clayton, NJ, the small town where I am from. We also had many adventures that you would not believe if I told you: Getting lost, scary moments, hysterical mishaps. I laughed, cried, wondered, and talked more during those years than I could think possible now. Through it all we struggled through questions of faith, rebellion, future and friendship. It hurt when she left for Bible College. I remember feeling like my heart was torn out. I remember feeling bad enough to tell my best friend, but I couldn’t. She was gone. I went on with life as usual in Clayton, while she was surrounded by new places, faces and quickly making new friends.
Now, one wintry night in 1986 she was back home. I wondered if things would still be the same. We agreed to meet in the graveyard; strange choice I know, but while Clayton had plenty of wide-open spaces, none of them were public and the closest thing to a park was the town graveyard. When I was younger the youth group that we all went to would meet and even play there after our meetings. The guys loved scaring the girls and we all loved the adventure of it. As I left my house and began walking down Center Street, the snow was falling at a slow and peaceful rate. No sounds could be heard except a light wind and crunch of snow beneath my feet. As I approached the graveyard I recognized her familiar walk as she came from the other direction. We never did have to wait for one another. We always arrived at the same time.
We embraced and exchanged the usual sentiments and began to stroll around the cemetery. Underneath the tall snow covered pine trees, we tried to catch up on conversation, but to my surprise, talking did not come easy. There was a time when we talked for six to eight hours without even realizing it, now, suddenly, one minute seemed to last for hours. We had to work to talk, work to laugh…we had to work. I think we both quietly wondered if the life between us ceased.
It was then that something unexpected happened. She pulled out two pieces of cinnamon gum and as we both chewed, the air around us began to contain the familiar fragrance. Cinnamon gum was all she chewed since I first met her and the smell of it now was warm, comfortable. Soon we were walking out of the graveyard towards the High School football field. As the cemetery faded in the distance, we began to talk about memories of all the crazy things we said and did together and we quit naturally laughed in disbelief that we really did those things.
Arm and arm we walked late into the night until we came to a big field of undisturbed snow. She jumped in and carefully began to place one foot in front of the other as she began to spell out words. I joined her and when we were done, we stood quietly and reflected on the six words.
After walking her to her house and saying goodnight, I walked by the field again on my way home. The words were now being filling with falling snow. They read: “Liala and Vince, Best Friends Forever.”
I watched them fill until they were barley readable.
1 Corinthians 13:11