Enduring friendship of the heart

Fall of 1971,I was in 8th grade. 13 years old. We were raising money for the music program at Pine Grove junior high, a car wash. I was standing beside my friend Holly when I first saw him, he was leaning down at the drinking fountain when he stood up and turned around I was struck, he was beautiful. Jim was a year younger and in the 7th grade. Holly introduced us and we started hanging out every opportunity we got. Lunch time, after school, weekends. I was smitten and it was mutual. His folks were professors at UC Berkeley, they sparkled with wit and intellect . His mother became a feminist role model for me and being with Jim and his family was like handing a person dying of thirst an ice cold glass of spring water. 

My first dance with Jim was early in our relationship, what a thrill to be together and be able to hold each other among all of our friends. We were both shy and nervous, but it was an absolute rush. The darkened auditorium and the music, slow dancing, the smiles and laughter. Did I say we were shy? We took nearly a  year before we summoned the courage to kiss each other, neither of us knowing more than the other. He made me a beautiful pair of gold and abalone earrings and I took his jeans and covered them with artistic patches of velvet and silk.

During the year that followed I graduated and went on to high school. We drifted and my mother took her life. My life began to dissolve… six months later , my father died in a plane accident. I was 15 and life was pretty much a mess, those days of innocence gone. I moved to another California town. Jim came to see me when I was sixteen. He walked me to the ocean during a full moon and we watched the moonlight on the water. I felt as though his visit was a gift, a magic touchstone to a part of me that needed to stay alive.

Jim and his family then moved across the country to Rhode Island. We wrote each other and stayed in touch. I moved into a tiny cottage away from my family and began attending a Junior college. Jim wrote me a postcard in his senior year, “ I’ll see you when I get out” was all it said. True to his word, he came for a visit and by then we were young adults ready for adventures. We reconnected and dove deeply into each other. Intimacy with him was comforting and felt like home. We went camping up the northern coast of California , slept nights in the park back of my pickup truck, explored the coast and each other. Then we drifted again. 

Jim lived a hundred miles away for a time, I bounced between men and a few women. Jim moved backeast to attend MIT, I met and fell in love with a Canadian woodsman. Jim fell in love with a woman in Cambridge. I got married and so did Jim. I lived in the wilds of British Columbia, Jim was living in sophisticated Cambridge. We had completely different lives. 

My marriage fell apart, I became a touring musician. Jim’s marriage was solid and they had two sons. They were both having promising careers. I, however… was lost.

Years of therapy showed me the reasons for my inability to have a successful first marriage. I dated wonderful solid people and crazy wild people. Then I met Marty, I was forever changed and so was my life. Marty was incredibly intelligent and funny. I was in awe of him . We married and grew an ambitious business, a 15,000 square foot film studio. 

Jim and I reconnected and he and one of his sons came to see us, they stayed with us and we had a sweet visit. I’m not sure if I explained everything about my history with Jim to my husband, he just knew Jim was special to me and that was good enough for him. My marriage was solid, we all treasured our friendship and I was thrilled to have Marty , Jim and Max under the same roof.

Years passed and we kept tabs via Facebook. Marty had an intense medical accident at Stanford. He ended up on a vent with a trach. I didn’t hear him speak for seven months. Our lives had changed and mine was upside down again. I was experiencing terror daily. It was then that Jim came to see me again. I walked out of the rehab facility to see his familiar ambling figure strolling across the parking lot. I melted in his embrace. His presence put me right, to get through the next few years. There is nothing as comforting as an old friend.. We spent a few hours, he checked in and saw Marty and realized the gravity of the situation. There wasn’t much he could do or say, but just having him show up was a Godsend. Another touchstone moment reminding me of the strength deep within. His visit allowed me to summon that one more time.

 Jim went back to his burgeoning career and family. Marty came home. We closed our studio and cared for Marty around the clock. Marty improved for a time, and then began a long decline. He passed in 2016. My friends and family held me close and lifted me. It was a hard climb back,. For the first time in many years I am content with my life. I’m still singing and teaching. Writing songs and creating art. 

Last month I got a text from my old friend Jim, He was coming for a visit. I was so excited at the thought of seeing him again. 

Three days ago I was on stage when he walked down to sit in front. The same smile and heart connection was apparent .When I was done I got that long awaited hug and had a hard time breaking away. It’s challenging to describe how sweet, loving and precious this one human being is to me.The deep resonance that began with the very first sight of him has only grown through these fifty plus years. While it was lovely to introduce him to my tribe and we enjoyed visiting and sharing the other music happening, we both were itching to catch up. We left and sat in front of a fire talking until the wee hours. So much to catch up on, so many of our life stories to share.

In the morning there was coffee and breakfast and more stories, photos of nieces, nephews and grandchildren. A tough farewell and he was gone. My heart is full and joyous. It’s my turn to visit Jim and Sarah in Cambridge. It will not be another decade. Time is precious. And this connection a rare gem. I will treat it as such, as he has shown by example.