“The story is always better than your ability to write it.” — Robin McKinley
I can’t remember the first time I met Steph. She has just always been there.
What I do know is that we met sometime our freshman year in college at Miami University in 1990. We lived in Dodds Hall, so maybe it was there. We had a class together, so maybe it was there. I know she’s the reason I began working with the Field Hockey team.
As the years have rolled by, though, I can’t remember Miami University without her. These are the things that happen to us as we get older. The yesterdays begin to blend into one giant day, the time slip. The stories that actually were become the stories that you tell.
We’re friends in the way that brothers and sisters are friends. Which is to say that’s dirty and real. She’s always been there even as she’s seen the worst side of me and I’ve been a shoulder for her during the low moments that ebb and flow through life.
We talk. We bicker. We banter. We laugh. We make fun.
Oh…we make fun.
There’s so few times in adult life that we have the opportunity to maintain ties with the friends who fan out across the globe. Job. Kids. Vacations. Weariness. They all set in and despite our best intentions, we fade out of the lives of those we care so much about.
But not with The Steph. Not so far.
I know when she reads this she’s going to shake her head silently at me. She’s going to tell me it was stupid. It’s possible she will call me dumb.
I know what she means. I feel the same way. It’s why we’re friends.