If God loves me, why can’t I get my locker open?

an ode to a friend.

i was thirteen when i met you; well, one day shy. scared someone would ask, guess how young i was. too young for highschool, really. you were two doors down from me. lockers were arranged alohabetically, my “l-a” just two doors ahead of your “k-u”. you wove a strange humor into this new world: lunch in the kiva, essays about locker buddies, crashing each other’s baptist youth groups. we capsized a catamaran and hiked and jumped our way into a canyon. we helped eat a six foot long banana split and sported cigars in a hobo contest. we survived the sophomore year ghetto lockers, complete with cockroaches and black widows. we read “devotions” in a book by the title of this blog. mostly, you did the crazy things, some of which you didn’t own til our 25th reunion. i was too much a good girl, my only safety in a world of day child/night child.
and so this week, we “retreated”. a combo of work for you and silent space for me. and in the evenings, shared space. we turned the temperature down to 68 in our desert hacienda, and lit a roaring fire. we shared story and tears, and laughed over tea bag mishaps.
through it all weaves almost 4 decades of shared life. not quite; you are still older than ne. just like that first day of highschool so long ago.

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2 thoughts on “If God loves me, why can’t I get my locker open?

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