Old Friends

( layoutfashion )

My mother has a friend  she has known since she was nine.

Both are in their eighties now.

I had lunch with them today.

My Aunt, as we call her,

Though there is no blood shared,

Was always the stronger –

Or so it seemed.  Vibrant,

Provocative, absolutely gorgeous,

With Betty Boop curves

And unafraid to speak her mind,

She lorded over my mother,

Who was the meeker, the less

Confident, the demure

(though notably, my mother drove –

she forced herself to learn after two years

of post-partum agoraphobia;

and my Aunt never learned how.)

Their spouses, my father and my Uncle,

Both now long gone, having now been fully secured

To mythic status for their respective clans

Were also best friends – our families

would camp together,

Boat together,

Holiday together,

Everything together –

We were closer to them than kin,

If that’s at all possible.  Indeed

It is: my sister

Nearly married their son; their elder

Daughter was our babysitter, and knows a few

Of my most painful youthful secrets.

In the meager amount of time I’ve shared with my Aunt’s family

(a half a century or so)

I’ve witnessed her friendship with my mother change –

From buddies

To jealousies

To rivalries

To trivialities

But always, somehow they remained

Friends.

Today they sat together at table,

My Aunt now shriveled and bruised –

A brittle post-bypass diabetic,

Nearly blind.  My mother, the stronger,

Though slowed by arthritis and aided

by six cardiac stints, had made the meal –

A simple chicken salad with melon and iced tea.

The attitude between the two

old friends

is one of constant surprise

-- that they are still together --

and grim acceptance

-- that they are still together --

and gratitude.

We spoke of old times; we spoke

Of new times; or we did not speak

At all.  My former babysitter, too,

My “Cousin,” was in attendance, and we spoke

Of her grandchildren.

For four hours, I was blessed

With the comfort of the company of

People who have known me all my life  -

Who have loved me despite my distant

wanderings, who have applauded my accomplishments,

Though from afar.

The sentiment is trite,

I know,

but triteness often comes

from truth: 

How far must one travel to know

Old Friends. are perhaps

one of the few great comforts

In human existence.