Louise and I were different in some ways. She was more savvy about the world (not saying much), and my chin spent a lot of time on the ground that summer, thanks to things Louise said and did. Like how she spotted this good-looking man in the adult writing program, and proceeded not only to meet him but strike up a romance with him. A grown man! I couldn’t believe he would be interested in someone our age! (As I mentioned, I was very naïve.)
But she and I were the same in other ways. We both loved learning and literature, which is why we had signed up for the program to start with. And Louise was no bullshit, and I liked that. We made fun of each other like men do, and didn’t say things to be nice like girls sometimes do. (Louise has never once tried to tell me that my butt isn’t wide. I complain about it. She nods. My butt is wide. Let’s talk about how to dress it, instead of lying about its quite-obvious existence.)
Louise and I visited each other’s high schools during our senior year, but then we headed off to different colleges and lost touch. Years passed, and I was checking out at the grocery store in Atlanta when I was twenty-four. I had just moved to town. I spotted Louise ahead of me. We started talking—she lived only a mile or so from me—and we made plans for drinks the next night. Thus began Phase Two of our friendship.
It was kind of a bumpy stretch of life for both of us. We were trying to figure out what we wanted to do professionally and trying (too hard) to find our Mr. Rights. When I look back at that period, I see a very insecure version of myself making some bad choices. It’s not pretty, for the most part, though some of the best things I remember include Louise. We used to walk to a Mexican restaurant halfway between our apartments and drink margaritas. We talked a lot. We stopped each other from making REALLY bad choices. We laughed.
