BFF’s

When I was four years old my family moved to Eagle River, a small town in northern Wisconsin where I then grew up. We bought the house that we did my mother said, because it was the only one in town for sale at the time. Our neighbors had a girl, the third of four children in that family. She was just a year older than I was and it was perfect. I was a shy kid who tended to hide behind my mother’s skirts whenever anyone talked to me. Yep, those were the days when mothers still wore what we called “house dresses” with full skirts. Gwen marched right up to the moving truck and immediately appropriated me as her best friend. Man, that skinny little girl was afraid of nothin’, I found out as time went on. She died a few days ago and I will forever be grateful to her. She taught me courage. She stayed in Eagle River and I ended up moving to different places all over the country so I didn’t see her very often but we talked on the phone sometimes. About a month ago she said she was giving up on trying to defeat the cancer that had been pestering her on and off. She told me she was dying. We reminisced about old times. Talked about playing dress-up in our basement and arguing over who got to wear the red velvet coat that somehow ended up in our box of play clothes. I never knew where the coat came from but it was more coveted than anything. We talked about reading comic books together. About the day I was finally allowed to walk to the beach at Silver Lake alone with her. She made me believe I would get a wish granted if I saw the street lights come on. She told me certain tree trunks had toys in them. Apparently I was as gullible as I was shy. We laughed together on the phone that day a month ago. And we cried together. Thank you, Gwen. You were the best first friend I could ever have had and the world will be a lesser place without you. I hope wherever you are now, you get to wear that red velvet coat every day.

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