I’ve known this one forever. We met in a small nursery class on North Maple Avenue when we were four years old. I wanted to be just like her; I wanted to be her. She was smart and funny and had the prettiest handwriting in the class. She wore her hair in braids. For many years we dressed alike and claimed that we were twins separated at birth (spoiler alert - no one believed us).⁠

She could laugh undetected; I could not. On occasion, I would get sent to the office from nap time for being disruptive, and she would remain snickering silently on her blanket.⁠

Growing up, I spent as much time at her house as I did at mine. We clocked countless hours in the backseat of her family car, The Wombat. Her mom was Australian. The eldest of six, my BFF was tasked with caring for her younger siblings. She could cook and do laundry; I could do neither. ⁠

We attended rival high schools and found ourselves pitted against each other on the squash and tennis courts. Chatting and giggling our way through matches, we drove our coaches wild. ⁠

We entered college in different states and came in and out of each other’s lives. I wore a Laura Ashley bridesmaid dress at her wedding; she wore black velvet at mine. We named each other godparent to our first-borns. She moved to New York, to England, and finally returned home to the town where we grew up, and when she did, I was here.⁠

Our worlds have changed a lot since we met. Hours spent on a landline, cord stretched to reach behind our bedroom doors, are now texts sent throughout the day from iPhones. We mourned the death of my father, her mother. We compare notes on children and books. Today we are partners on court and our bodies are sore after a game. ⁠

Still, no one can make me laugh out loud like this girl. ⁠

If we are lucky enough to have them, lifelong friends are an integral part of our stories, winding in and out of our many stages, always adding color and comfort and, if we are truly fortunate, they will be close by forever.