One of my oldest and dearest friends is flying in to visit next week. Pauly and I have known each other since the second day of 10th grade, when we sat together on one of the charter buses that ferried the whole school to a lush, green alpine valley punctuated by cows, glaciers, and Roman ruins. Not that either of us saw any of that; we were way too occupied with the examination of her braces for stray food bits, interspersed with non-stop conversation.
Of course, we were fast friends after that, mostly thanks to her: even though I am the opposite, Pauly has one of those never-met-a-stranger personalities. I confess, that to the introvert I am, she can be exhausting, but I love her, and even though it's been 46 years, and we have never once lived in the same town since we graduated, our friendship persists to this day.
It has been a minute since we saw each other though, what with COVID, distance, and life and all. And so, when she texted last spring to see if I was interested in seeing Elton John's final tour? I was in!
And now? Here she comes. "Do you want anything from Colorado?" she asked when she called to give me her itinerary.
"Just my best friend from high school!" I answered.
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