strike that

like bookends

There’s something very strange about spending time with old friends. It’s strange the way that it must be strange when your own child becomes a vegetarian or a republican or a Mennonite if that’s something you’ve never been. Like, where did this come from? Were you this way all along, and I just never picked up on it? And are you quietly judging my steak?

My old friends, in increasing numbers, live in big houses and/or in the suburbs. I don’t ever want to live in a big house or in the suburbs. Certainly not in a big house in the suburbs. Not ever. I don’t ever want nice dishes or white sofas or clothes that require dry cleaning. And back in high school my mom patiently explained to me that my tastes would mature and I would come to my senses and want these things, and I took deep breaths and tried to weather her condescension without violence.

And surprisingly, I was right. I’m nearly thirty and I avoid these things just as I did when I was eighteen. I now understand the appeal of living out of a house instead of a backpack, but the dream house I hardly care enough about to dream of is small and uncluttered, with a bed on the floor and a drafting table and a rocking chair. The kitchen has glass jars of pasta and beans, and when people come over we drink out of smaller versions of those same jars. The walls are covered with art from my friends and photographs from my trips and big cool maps. I grow rosemary, and tomatoes that I eat raw. And I keep the backpack in the front closet, next to the snowshoes.

And so the weird thing about visiting my old friends is that many of them have started liking the things that I was told I would start to like. And I just keep thinking, really? You really like the white sofas? What about when you want to paint?

This doesn’t happen with my more recently acquired friends, because we found each other through mutual decisions that imply certain lifestyle commonalities. But old friends are more a matter of alphabetical seating charts and dorm lotteries. And it makes me especially thankful that we have managed to stay close through moving and marriages and ideological shifts.

And though I’m glad for the diversity and challenge and spirited debate, it was also nice to see Jordan yesterday - my best friend in high school and my senior prom date and my first love, who still doesn’t like the suburbs either. In fact he and his partner Adam are about to move to Hong Kong, which is about as un-suburban as it gets. And we talked about it while eating greenbeans and blueberries from the farmer’s market, sitting on his floor.

posted by tortaluga @ 4:14 PM