Marion and I didn't go through puberty together but we did grow up alongside each other in social work school. She and her purple overalls and headscarf, always with a snack in her backpack. She could tell stories of the the AIDS organization she worked at with tears in her eyes.
Our friendship started on my birthday when I drove the pretty way to school and picked her up.
Our first trip was to San Francisco for reading break and quickly our mothers assumed we were dating. Violet recognized us as sisters and called it out quickly. We loved introducing each other to our grandmothers and helping out our women with chores and housework. Baking pies for each, or moving the heavy things, all the while glimpsing the intimacy that comes with family.
Over at dinner last night that I made, which is notable since Marion always cooks, we retold the story of the summer I drove to the Yukon to get her and bring her home so she didn't get lost to the north.
Today I signed up on Facebook to get her again. I'll joined a group online to publicly commit to thinking about her during her 10 hours of surgery, 10 hours under general anesthesia, 10 hours drifting on the astral plane. 10 hours out of body, until all of the cancer is removed and new breasts are created. I said with a belly full of salmon that I'd sign up take the last hour to make sure she came home again. I've done that before. It's my self appointed job. I'm not sure we are worried about death but this is one more thing to adapt to. We friendshipped through heartbreak, bad apartments, work drama and our mothers dying. We'll do this too. She'll do it and I'll overcome my ongoing fear Facebook (makes me seem so petty).
By offering a chance to turn our backs to the strife, the scary words and the potential for harm I'll make sure she's safe as she is now, here on the island, in the guest bed, bathing in the view. We'll swim all day, rub our bellies and show our breast of the sun. Later we'll walk home together, once again, always fitting together with a satisfying tap.
Inspired by "Break", by Dorianne Laux