I remember now -
We used to walk barefoot to McDonald’s late at night, carrying our shoes. We would meet halfway between your house and mine, (a mere two house walk for each of us) shoes in hand, feet on the earth, summer breeze at our back. We would make the trek to simply get an ice cream cone. The walk would dissolve into endless laughter, friendship, and solving our teenage problems. We did this walk all of the time.
You were my very best friend.
The very best friend.
Soon, a country lay between us - a mountain range and a few provinces. Eventually, an ocean split the distance and meeting halfway became impossible. Neither of us cared to swim that far. The distance grew so great that we thought we could never get back those nights, those talks, or that kind of love for one another. Yet, you were always on my mind. I continued to give nod to those late-night walks, for they were what made me.
Still, I loved you endlessly.
Then, the tiniest life put our distance into perspective. It was never so great after all. I wouldn’t live this nomadic life forever. Home was clearly defined and I missed it. I knew I’d always return. I knew what I wanted my life to look like and this tiny human - your tiny human - would be part of it. I called you once a day, my night, your morning, like I used to for the remainder of that year abroad. I will be there for her birth – and I was. I will be there for her first steps– and I was. I will be there for you – and I was.
My promise, my word – we can get back there.
Today we stood, opposite each other, eyes fixed, and it all flooded back. The thin line between us seemed to be the greatest distance that we might ever have to cover. The Great Lakes, The Prairies, The Rockies and The Pacific Ocean seemed minor compared to the line between us today. I stood there, brave-faced, a mirror image of you, with the line dividing us. I stood there, wanting to remember all the times that we met halfway but I simply remembered all the times my strides were larger. So, I stayed on my side, and you stayed on yours (likely for the same reasons).
Now, hours later, I sit at my pine table, tea cooling beside me, fingers on the keyboard, and I’m able to remember meeting you halfway for our late-night walks. I’m able to remember how you promised to be there for her birth, her first steps, and for me – and you were.
I remember now -
The memories flood the page as do tears in my eyes. Those summer nights flood back with each tear that falls. A long time ago, we would meet halfway, feet on the earth, shoes in hand, and walk together.
Now, a thin line stands in the way.