I remember skipping with you:
bouncing brown pigtails in pink cotton ribbons
two-toned Mary Janes cantering through ladybug pastures
your hand slipping from mine
...but then I reached for you.
Like now, I reach for the cradle
of the phone.
Pulling it toward me
wanting to feel connection, warm
as the endless sun beaming down
on our smile-freckle faces
racing up Dinosaur Hill.
The click of the hissing line
like the crackle of Pop Rocks
exploding on our
now aching to mouth the stories
of twenty years gone by.
The pulsing ring
notching through the years;
best friends watered down
to annual greeting cards.
Your voice comes first
Then a pause
Then sweet familiar laughter reaching for me,
a conspiracy of girlish giggling.
It's like nothing has changed.
Yet smooth plastic Barbies,
yellow chalked hopscotch on the driveway,
the blue tree house in your parent's old oak
have given way to
our own pigtailed children,
furrowed brows over employment listings,
the privileged servitude of a mortgage.
We talk for hours,
our voices intertwined
like pinkies linked at recess.
And it's like nothing has changed,
the spark of your laughter
the tender soft sigh of concern;
Sweat still beads on lemonade glasses.
For between us
this friendship is bigger
than the years.

--Laurie M.

© 2008 Laurie M Simpkinson. All rights reserved.