I have a lot of friends, a lot of good friends that I’ve mentioned on this blog.
But I recently realized that I do have a best friend, my friend April.
We were roommates in college. We met when she showed up to join the marching band but hadn’t played her clarinet in quite a few years. So I spent a lot of time showing her notes and then we got to know each other. She’s from Detroit so we got to spend summers together and ride up and down I-75 together in cars and on busses coming home from school.
She knows all about my family, she built a salon just blocks from my mother’s house so it was easy to see her when I came home to visit over the years.
She wasn’t at either of my weddings, nor was I at hers. She wasn’t here when my daughter was born. I wasn’t in town for her surgery. We’ve got other friends for that.
I could go 5 years without speaking to April and we could pick up like we’d just talked yesterday because she knows all the background and asks just the right questions that make me know she’s listening and cares.
But you know what makes April my VERY best friend? This right here:
I was a little disappointed with a friend of mine, someone who actually called me her best friend. I felt like she let me down when I needed help (I ended up sleeping in my car for 3 nights). Then I felt she withheld some information from me and was just a bit secretive for my liking.
Of course April knew her too, and I told her the story.
Years later that person moved to April’s city and I asked April if she had contacted her. She said, “No, I thought we were mad at her.’’
Now that’s a best friend.