Everyone talks about that one, amazing summer they've had.
Mine was 1998. I'd just lost a ton-o-weight, was working four jobs, and didn't have a car. First I was living on my college's tiny campus with a guy WAY too into WWF and then off campus with the most awesomest roommate ever, Mory.
Dustin hates hearing about it. I've judged every summer since to the contentment I had that summer. Maybe it was the fact that when you don't have a car it makes you prioritize your needs. Or maybe it was the fact that the weather that summer was just about perfect while living in a bucolic setting. (Yes. Bucolic. You haven't seen magical beauty until you've seen an entire wheat field at dusk covered with lighting bugs.) Or maybe it was that I had more energy and happiness because the weight was gone. Or because I learned to drive stickshift after I convinced a friend to let me borrow his car by saying I already knew how to drive a stick shift.
Or maybe it's that for the first time in my life I fully embraced the new technology of e-mail to forge a friendship that, today, I couldn't imagine my life without.
Jill was different from all my other friends. It wasn't just that she was smart or that she was the first person who found me truly entertaining. Or that she was my first, and only girlfriend. Or that we were both Geminis.
She somehow knew me. And I mean *KNEW* me. I'd shared more with her and she with I than anyone in either of our lives. And insomuch I'd tell her, "you're the only one who really gets me."
When I came out after college, her phone number was the first one I dialed. It was a strange circle considering that we initially met my freshman year when I was evading a gangly boy who was pseudo-pursuing me.
See, it wasn't *just* that she 'got' me, she taught me more than most professors did. Mostly how to live and understand my own life.
Plus, as a good english major, she politely corrected and guided my writing.
And see these little paragraph breaks that conveniently separate my thoughts?
Thank Jill for those.
That summer of '98 we e-mailed daily. Often multiple times. I would sneak away from my jobs on campus to head to a computer lab. I'd type a few lines and scoot back to work. She was a summer temp for corporate America in Des Moines.
For some reason I can't remember, probably missing each other, she came to Waverly for the weekend of July fourth. She, with her car, rescued me from campus. We dressed up. We ate out. We lit sparklers. We crashed a tiny towns 'days.'
But things didn't stay wonderful forever. The summer ended. We both got back to being college students. We stayed close until shortly after college.
Then life happened. She went her way to live her life. I went mine.
It's been at least 6 or 7 years since I've seen her.
Until this last weekend.
I went to Denver this weekend for a choir festival with the Lawrence Children's Choir. I actually wasn't feeling well before the trip and didn't know if 12 hours on a bus with 75 kids would make me feel any better. But someone had paid my way for the trip (since I couldn't afford it) so I sort of had to go.
On Sunday my choir collegues and I were sitting at the Denver zoo arguing over the grammatical appropriateness of the phrase "me and Bob."
I knew only one person who would know the answer.
Jill.
I gave her a ring and in the middle of the call realized she was in Colorado. I didn't know where. But when she answered, I found out she had just bought a suburban Barbie Dream Home outside of Denver.
Once again, almost 10 years to the day, I was stuck on a campus with no car. And Jill was coming to rescue me.
We went to a fabulous Mediterranean restaurant for a four hour meal.
She still laughs at my jokes. I still think she's one of the smartest people I know. And while we're both in very different places than we thought we'd be 10 years ago, we're both, oddly, much happier people.
We've both got rockin' husbands now. My career is moving forward. She's finally out of the book business and able to relax.
And she still knows me and I still know her. Even after 10 years.
p.s. I've done my research on this "Me and Bob" question and am still not satisfied. Some have suggested that you take "Bob" of the sentence to see if it still makes sense. But that doesn't always work.
Like if I said, "Bob and I are going to the movies." You wouldn't say "I are going to the movies."
And the fact that you put the other person first is simple polite formality. That part I get and can accept.
But why can't I say "Bob and me??"
As Jill pointed out, I can only except change if I have a logical answer.
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