Well, well, well. Looks like I’m the first guest blogger to break the ice.
:: sound of crickets chirping ::
Ahem. That statement may be false by the time I’m actually able to finish this and post it.
So, I’m the guest known as “Vivi’s oldest friend” - I’ve known darling V since my first year of high school. Fittingly enough, I joined the French Club in an effort to become better friends with her. Seeing as how that was about 17 years ago, I think it worked. Vivi and I used to exchange elaborate notes via the Locker Express, replete with drawings, pseudonyms, and the kinds of secrets that teenage girls can only share with one another. I thought she was amazingly cool...she was one year older, she had a big blue station wagon, she was in the French Club!
Vivi schlepped me around for most of my high school years, driving me (and whoever else we could pack into the wagon) to record stores, concerts, and late night pies at the Village Inn. She introduced me to my first real boyfriend (named after a mammal, no less), and was gentle with me during our break-up. And the numerous break-ups with others that followed. Vivi was the only person I went out of my way to visit when I made my trek north to my new home in Boston some-odd nine years ago; I didn't even visit my hometown one last time. There weren't that many people that I was going to miss....
Sadly enough, I lost touch with V after moving. Ask anyone who knows me (or, erm...used to) I DON’T stay in touch. I don’t call, I never write. I think of people fondly - and often - but that’s about as far as it goes. Happily enough, Vivi has never held that against me, and has continued to send missives into the black hole that is my mailbox. And last year, I was thrilled to hear her voice coming over the telephone, exclaiming, “I’m getting married and moving to France!”
I’m just glad she never gave up on me. Or the French Club.