today

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Sixteen or seventeen, going on twenty-five. I grew up quick.
 
It was hard picking music for this. In 1979 there was Message in a Bottle, Money for Nothing, Highway to Hell, My Sharona, Heart of Glass, Rock the Casbah...and there was The Cars.
 
Jeanette was like the sister I never had. Her mom loved me. Most especially because I ate all my vegetables, that was the sweetest.  
 
This is us at a party—I have no idea what we are playing. The way we're holding our Player's Light cigarettes—I miss smoking the most. 
 
Nothing dates you like a pile of empty stubbies. I smile when I see a Molson Golden label—mostly we drank Canadian.
 
I loved beer.
 
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She had a couple of good men. They always played lots of sports, so there was time for us. 
 
We met at a department store lunch counter. I was working the grill, and she was serving—in our orange polyester uniforms. Sometimes on Saturday mornings, we were sweating out a hangover. I think we clocked in a few times directly from an all-nighter.
 
Laughter was hard and easy between us.
 
In the wee hours of one Sunday morning, we outran the cops in her Toyota Celica. Don't ask me how we did it. I was too busy trying to sober up quickly. Skidded into a driveway with the lights off and cut the engine. We would have been in royal shit if caught.
 
Our style was similar, and we shared clothes. 

​The only time I was a bridesmaid was for her. The dresses didn't suck or cost a fortune. I have a hilarious picture of us from that day. I was going to use it and let you caption it for fun.
 
Jeanette was the kind of friend who told hard truths and then stuck around.
 
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There were some life hardships then—my parents busting up being one of them.
 
We had a beautiful family home—nice landscaping, a pool—then the whole thing imploded. It felt like strangers lived there.
 
To find a place to go where there was laughter and love was everything. It means more now than ever.
 
Some friendships don't go the distance, but they're damn good in their time.

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1979