Oh, Twitter. You have turned me into a lazy blogger. If I can’t say it in 140 characters or less, it doesn’t seem worth the effort.
But wait, here’s a subject that’s worthy of 140 or more character devotion: my friend Jen. She’s been on my mind lately, maybe because she packed up and moved all the way across the country (not okay!) or possibly because she just got engaged (that part is okay.) Maybe because in the near future I am flying to Arizona to take her engagement photos (totally, super okay.)
Sidebar: Have I mentioned that she now lives a mere 30 minutes away from Tombstone, Arizona? Which is the setting of one of my favorite movies ever? Oh, yes. We will be stopping by old Tombstone during my visit. There is no getting out of it!
Just be prepared for a lot of photos entitled “I’m Your Huckleberry” upon my return. Or a multitude of other caption possibilities, as my friend Katie handily supplied: “Allow me to present a pair of fellow sophisticates”, “I don’t think I’m gonna let you arrest me today”, “If I thought you weren’t my friend, I just don’t think I could bear it”, “I know! Let’s have a spelling contest”, and of course: “well, BYE.”
What was I talking about? Oh right, Jen! (Sorry, I get sidetracked whenever the occasion to quote movie lines presents itself.) Jen and I have known each other since the 7th grade. Our friendship has lasted through 14-year-old awkwardness, learning to drive, cashiering together at the grocery store, countless groundings, a short stint as roommates, (where we learned that best friends don’t always equal good roommates, sheesh), graduating high school and going our separate ways for college. It even survived the time I thought I nearly killed her.
Before I dive into that story, I first need to introduce you to my high school ride. Prepare to get jealous. Meet the 1987 Volvo Station Wagon. (Mine was missing the gas cap door for an extra touch of class.)
That car and I did some serious damage (literally) in the two-ish years I owned it. I backed into a tree, drove it into (and out of) a ditch, nearly took off a high school classmate’s passenger door (though I still blame his passenger for flinging the door open right as I was pulling into the parking spot,) and of course, possibly gave poor Jen a concussion.
And you know what? That car barely had a scratch on it–it was a TANK. I’m telling you this because it is important to understand how heavy, unyielding, and very METAL this car was. You didn’t dent it, it dented YOU.
Now on that fateful day, I picked Jen up on my way to school in the midst of a torrential downpour. I am talking, can’t-see-the-road-even-with-your-wipers-on-full-blast, yards-and-gutters-flooded-within-minutes kind of rain. We pulled into the parking lot and sat, pondering whether we should wait to see if the rain would let up, or make a run for it. (Obviously we weren’t the kind of kids who planned ahead and actually carried an umbrella.) We finally concluded that the rain wasn’t going anywhere and decided to go for broke. Hands on the door handles, we counted down, flung our doors open, and bolted to the back of the car, where our bookbags were waiting in the hatch.
I opened the hatch and we reached in to grab our bags. Backpack over my shoulder, I slammed the hatch down, ready to take off running toward the school. But for some reason, the door didn’t latch. Once again, I slammed the hatch down, and as I was doing so, I saw Jen out of the corner of my eye, sprawled on the ground in the middle of a giant puddle.
I bent down to to see what happened, and she said, “I don’t know! I was grabbing my backpack and then I blacked out and next thing I knew I was in a puddle on the ground!”
Now, our details are a little bit fuzzy here, but after many MANY discussions of this fateful event, (yeah, this is a topic we like to revisit from time to time) we have come to the conclusion that Jen must have been a little bit slower getting her bag out of the car, and in my haste, I…slammed the hatch down on her head. ON HER HEAD. I know. I KNOW.
I guess that explains why the door didn’t latch. Poor Jen had to go the rest of the day completely soaked from head to toe (though by the time it was all said and done, I too, was completely drenched–but I’m not the one who got my head smashed in a Volvo, so no complaints here,) and with a massive headache (probably a concussion–we were dumb kids and didn’t even get her checked out.)
And you know what? Despite my nearly killing her with my tank of a car, Jen still wants me to be in her wedding. And that’s good, because you know, Jen, if I thought you weren’t my friend, I just don’t think I could bear it.