The Blessings Of Old Friends.

I woke up on the floor, comfy on my pile of quilts with a heated blanket keeping me cozy despite the draft.  True, the carpet reeked of stale beer and feet.  But I felt happy.  Just happy to be back again with the nutjobs I love dearly, even if our visit was brief.  Looking up, I saw three faces over my head.  They laughed when I squeaked out a good morning.  Each with their coffee mugs, morning hair and chipper hellos, you’d never know that we’d just spent the previous day drinking from dawn until broke.  It was Parade Day ‘08, lovers.  And we exercised our Irish muscles til we sweat the Guinness out as fast as we drank it in.  Glorious.  So very glorious.

Erin, my senior year roommate and our newly- appointed resident cliche dropper, made me a collage last year for my twenty-first birthday.  In one space, she wrote out a quote.  “It is one of the blessings of old friends, that you can afford to be stupid with them.”- Ralph Waldo Emerson.  I’m confident that we’ve each minored in proving that statement true with every glass raised and every shot downed at every reunion since we hesitantly commenced back in May.  Believe me, I’ve got the pictures.  And they’re all publicized and tagged much to the chagrin of the would-be professionals in our bunch.  No worries though.  I’ve encouraged future employers to look away.

By 11:00 AM Sunday, most of the gang was awake and piled on couches and chairs in the living room.  No makeup.  Lots of sweatpants.  Dirty socks.  Uncombed hair.  Blankets.  Sad excuses for breakfast.  General laziness.  Piecing together the night.  Browsing digital cameras.  Black coffee.  Texting.  Brunch?  Morning movie.  It was all so comfortable.  This scene had played out on loop over our four years at Scranton and that level of familiarity, that particular species of friendship was what I knew I’d miss most when that train whistle sounded and we all moved back home.

Though our conversations still frequently include recounts of shenanigans from weekends gone by, we’re suddenly talking about bosses and bills and paychecks and sick days and futures.  Not that it’s at all surprising, of course.  Obviously, we’ve been handed significantly more responsibility.  But I don’t know that it if back in May it was the fact that cubicle life could be calling my name that had me nervous or if it was knowing that I’d soon be missing the moments of pure sloth when we’d just mill around sticky-floored apartments planning the next weekend, feeling like we had forever.  Things are different, but still very much the same.  One minute we’re discussing work woes and the next we’re laughing about Catherine’s new friend “Smash.”  (Yes.)  And I like that.  It makes me hopeful.  Yet also very concerned about looming events in which we’ll have to behave; i.e. official class reunions and, um, weddings.  But what a strangely wonderful feeling to finally realize that we can move apart and still find ourselves right back together again.  And with bigger bank accounts.

And as we took over a local restaurant for lunch, some super- shaky from lack of adequate hydration, I thought about just how much better it’s going to get.  I know the meet ups won’t be nearly as frequent.  I know that as the real world continues infiltrating our little circle, career and family commitments will take priority.  But does that really mean that it will all change?  Does that mean that it will change so much as to completely disappear? I know that no one can say for certain.  But I’ve got a good feeling that we’re lucky and that Father Pilarz is, once more, absolutely right.

’stay that close, grow even closer. dance at one
another’s weddings, stand as godparents for
each other’s kids. as a jesuit friend of mine is
fond of saying, ‘the conversation will get richer
and the jokes will get funnier.’ the conversation
among scranton friends will be a consolation for
you down all the days ahead. don’t waste love.’
- father pilarz

Now I know that classic commencement speech gem has been quoted at very Dane- ish (woof) levels at our university, but I’m beginning to believe there is truth at the heart of it.  We were missing a crucial piece of our crazy puzzle as the call of the JVC kept her igloo’d up in Alaska, but when a familiar song blared over The Frog’s speakers, we knew we had to share it with her via phone to make sure she didn’t miss the moment.  And that’s just nice.  So, well, if it isn’t the grace that holds these friendships together, perhaps it’s just that as we progress through our individual lives we will be completely unable to find new friends capable of a yearly marathon booze from 7:00AM until 12:00AM and we need to keep each other around to keep at bay the growing concern of employers and loved ones about possible raging alcoholism. 

It’s just so good to have such a close bond and to know that where I might have thought that a significant part of my life was ending, it was really just beginning.  And it will be wonderful to continue to be there for each other, to celebrate with each other, to welcome new significant others to our madness, to share with each other, to blackout with each other, to call and to write and to text and to IM and to smoke signal each other, making the distance feel much smaller.  Trite as it may sound, it’s refreshing to come to realize that, to know that we’ve got so much more in store for us individually that can only grow exponentially as a group.  And I’m just grateful for them.  I do, however, feel a bit bad for our eventual children who will absolutely get schooled by their green-clad mom’s and dad’s when it comes to karaoke, pong and car-bombs.

You did good, Parade Day ‘08.  You did good.