Good times, good times

I spent the weekend with Eljene, my best friend from the seventh grade. It was a fluke; she was really supposed to have spent it with JR, her best friend. Anyway, we went to lunch on Saturday and I took her to Melrose because she loves vintage clothing and is not afraid to buy anything used (unlike me, who is afraid of everything). This was my weekend adventure. It was my first time there, to be walking around people who were dressed to look casually fashionable and pretend not to care about anything else except the coffee drink in one hand and the oversized shopping bags hanging on their shoulders. We walked around a little, but found the prices to be too damn expensive for something someone else wore 3 times. So, to be adventurous, I bought a blouse for the next weekend.

We talked of high school, junior high, college and life, in general. I told her about Francis and she told me about her "non-boy friend", John. We compared sucky ex-boy friend stories, her's being worse than mine by 5 points, to justify why we are the way we are now. She is at that point I was about 1 1/2 years ago- scared, independent, and cynical about everything to do with relationships. I told her one day it will just smack her on the ass, to which she screamed, "I miss you, John, but no, not yet." This sounded familiar in an icky sort of way, how I used to proclaim bullshit then take it back. She obviously missed the guy, but could not go as far as she wanted.

Good times, good times. She would repeat this every-so-often. It was kind of weird and positive at the same time. I was just glad to be with her, because it was 10 years ago we cried outside the SF Public Library. Tears running down our faces and snot being wiped off with our cardigans, we said we were best friends and that we loved each other and how it sucked that I was leaving. I wish I forgot why we had that embarrassing confrontation, where people passed and looked at us with inquisition, probably thinking that we were smarmy little Catholic school kids crying over the dumbest thing. It was, in truth, dumb, but it hurt like hell 10 years ago, when all we had were report cards and pre-pubescent features.

We had breakfast again on Sunday morning and I brought her to the airport. And that was that.

Good times, Elj, good times.