on n.

It occurs to me that I haven't written about N here yet. So I thought I'd repost a bit that I had written around her birthday a couple of years ago.

On N:

Celebrated St. Paddy's with my oldest friend N, who cannot get enough of the Irish. I believe she hooked up with an Irish guy while we were backpacking in SPAIN. And ITALY. And FRANCE. It must be the accents. Or maybe the drunken singing.

Anyway, I met N in the 5th grade, when she was cool and popular, and I was totally not. Somehow, that ended up not mattering so much. She taught me how to put doritos in my sandwiches. I am forever grateful.

There are people you meet in a certain place and time, and you're friends because you (a) know the same people, (b) have the same interests, or (c) hang out at the same places. But sometimes, when you're lucky, it's that elusive option (d): They just get you. And you, them. With N and me, it has always been (d). It's not so much that she understands me perfectly, or that we've been best happy buddies always. We've had fights. BIG fights. But we always come around, eventually. She's stubborn, and challenging--as much as she is amazingly loving and smart and generous. She isn't easy, but I love her for that.

Writing her birthday card this year, I counted it up: N and I have been friends for seventeen years. Two-thirds of our lives, to date. And it will be another seventeen, as long as when we're 50, we can still have conversations like this:

N: "I think the mohawk may be making a comeback. I'll have to write that down in my journal."
Me: (incredulous) Your journal?
N: Because shut up, that's why.

[N looking up at the Parthenon in Rome. One of her favorite places.]