She called and I hardly talked. Twenty minutes later she walked through my front door. She didn’t say a word until after she hugged me. Then she sat down beside me and said, “Tell me all about it.”
From the sound of my voice she recognized that I was in crisis and she did what best friends do: she immediately came to help.
We are old and dear friends who have poured our hearts out to each other, because we trust each other. She knows more about me than anyone else. What a blackmail job she could do on me!
I’d better make sure none of our fights last too long. Yes, we do disagree sometimes, mainly because we are honest with each other. She will let me know when the outfit is too tight for my generous figure, and I will tell her to shut up when she is too critical.
We talk almost daily, yet we know if a year of silence were forced on us we would just pick up afterwards as if we never left off.
She is never a guest in my house. She is family. She opens the fridge, washes the dishes, sets the table, plays with the dog, doesn’t play with the cat, and talks back to my husband. My kids and grandkids call her by her first name.
She supports my success without a slightest bit of jealousy, because she has the shoulder I’ve leaned on after my many failures.
Yes, there are no friends like our old friends, especially in our declining years when our memory is not as sharp as before. She can finish my sentences—especially the ones going back to events that happened forty or more years ago.
More than anything she know when I need to talk and when I need to be alone.
Everyone should have a best friend like mine.