So one day I was talking to Amaretto and I said:
“Remember how in high school you would categorize people you know. And you’d have acquaintances, associates, friends, best friends?”
And she said, “Yeah. I still do that.”
And I said, “Yeah but remember how in high school it was like ---“
“A caste system,” she said.
Cause I remember how it was hard for someone to move up or down the “friendship” ladder. Like oh I don't fcuk with her like that, she’s just an associate. And then insert whatever definition associate meant to you. But even today, as we’re grown, even if we don’t break it down in those hard terms, out loud for everyone to know, we still have an idea of what constitutes a real, true, for real, for real friend.
Awhile ago I was watching a Seinfeld episode and Jerry had made a new “friend.” So off the break new “friend” was all, “Can you help me move this weekend?” So his real homies were on some, “how dare he ask you to help him move. Y’all just met. That’s like asking someone to drive you to the airport.” Ain’t that the right.
Cause depending on your city and your proximity, you don’t take or pick up just anyone to and from the airport. You gotta be on a certain level with that person. Have at least shared one deep, dark secret with each other. Cried on their shoulder. Gotten fcuked up together and lived to tell the tale. Met at least one of they family members. Gotten some blood or a kidney from ‘em and need to return the favor…I ain't lying. You know not everyone you know loves or even likes you enough to take you to the airport in the wee hours of the morning or circle and circle whilst you wait for your bag...
In this facebook and myspace age where the person you sat next to in Kindergarten can be your “friend,” it truly makes the typical definition or idea of friend null and void. Can make you forget what a true friend is. Until you need one. I dated this guy who thought anyone he met was his friend. So, he had hundreds of “friends.” Which I thought was stupid because in reality only a handful of people are really gonna have your back in this lifetime. And as you get older, that number gets smaller and smaller. One because you get tired of telling people your life story over and over, of having to build a foundation, garnering trust, playing the ‘are they good enough to be my friend' game… And two because people will start to die. I mean that's life, right?
In these past few weeks, I have gone through it. Lamented the single life, car got stolen, unnecessary drama, etcetera, etcetra. And I’ve called (literally on the phone and for emotional support) on my friends and they’ve been there. And I love ‘em for it. I love my one friend for riding through the hood with me to look for my car. I love my other friend for telling me to get it together, grouch and stop thinking no one will marry me. And I love my other friend for believing in my writing ability when I have doubt. And for having copies of all my stories after my flash drive was stolen.
I am reading one of my favorite authors - Dianne McKinney Whetstone’s book, Trading Dreams at Midnight and there’s a part where a homeless man asks one of the main characters who is going through her own shyt, “You got anybody laying down for you baby?”
“Huh?” she asked.
“A bridge? You got a living bridge? I only asked ‘cause it’s important for a person to know where their bridge is.”
As I get older, I realize who my living bridges are. And I'm oh so thankful for these people who encourage me, help me, would loan me money if I needed it, but still call me out on my shyt, wish me Happy Birthday every year, make me laugh, let me cry, whine, babble, ramble, talk shyt, and just love me for me with all my flaws, quirks and mistakes. So, who's your living bridge?
That’s my time y’all! Happy Rum Punch Friday!