She’s not on Facebook so don’t try and look her up. “I’m a very private person” she often reminds me which I think is hysterical because she lives in a house with five males, four of which are under the age of 12. “There’s piss everywhere!” she once said. “Piss on the toilet seat, piss on the floor, piss on the walls!” She has a way of articulating things without a hint of mincing her words. This is why we all love Meg.
I was that kid that didn’t really crave friendship. I used to wander the woods behind my house for hours, spin around in my backyard, lay on the grass and stare up at the clouds, and occasionally hang out with Scrappy, the neighborhood sheepdog. I was a pintsized loner and had no concept of the term antisocial which, I guess, I was. I was always invited to Meg’s birthday parties and I never really understood why. Who was this girl and why do I get to celebrate her birthday? I distinctly remember feeling anxious before what was probably her fourth birthday party thinking who, the fuck, I would play with in her backyard. I went though. I remember playing some weird game called bluebird and her mom singing a song to go with it which I found to be extremely uncomfortable and awkward. No offense, Janice. What can I say? I was a weird kid. But thanks for always including me despite my weirdness.
Janice, Meg’s mom, is most likely the reason why Meg and I became best friends. “Call Steph,” I’m sure she used to say. And Meg did, she called me. I went to all her birthday parties and bought her My Little Ponies long after it was socially acceptable to play with them. What did I know? I was a loner who always wanted a horse in my backyard. Of course I played with My Little Ponies longer than I should have. As we trudged through the minefield that was middle school, we hung out and swapped stories about our less than permissive parents. When our friends took a car out for a spin before anyone had a license, Meg and I were on a field trip for school. And guess what? Meg got in trouble with her parents for that joy ride. We were on a whale watch, far from all those shenanigans. We weren’t even on dry land! She still got in trouble for some reason and I’m shocked I didn’t. Yes, our parents were strict and we commiserated quite a bit.
High school was another minefield Meg and I entered together. The summer before our sophomore year was abysmal. Friends we had always hung out with drifted away and the group we now call “Besties!!!” was not yet fully formed. Having grown up a loner, I wasn’t as phased by this transition as Meg was. I had her, I was ok-ish. Though I know she loved me like a sister from another mister, I’m sure she craved less quirky social interaction. She, however, used to get on the bus with her sweater on backwards and inside out, just like that Alanis Morrisette song. She regularly tripped and fell out of chairs at school, was neck and neck to be class valedictorian, and participated (with me) in the school anti-drinking group. She clearly wasn’t doing herself any favors in the coolness category so I can’t entirely blame myself. Together, we were hopeless dorks and had not yet learned to embrace our awkwardness and/or raise our freak flags. If they could see us now, I actually don’t think they’d be the least bit surprised.
Surviving high school together with our friendship intact was a sign of just how strong our bond was and still is. College, my tattoo she helped finance, shared summer jobs in cubicles, moves to other countries, colossal fuckups, apartment sharing in Dot, countless green apple martinis, postgrad, marriages, births, accidents, deaths, my move to a remote island, and current “situation”—all this stuff has tested our mettle and our mettle is rock solid. Though I know my life to be a shit show (the title of my future Netflix series), Meg has never once wavered in her support. She shoves the red flags I fail to see right in my face and never hesitates to tell me I’m “soft as shit” in my weakest moments saying that her Dad, God rest his soul, would’ve said the same. He really would have. Mincing words is not what she does and I love her for that, I really do. She’s the Louise that I need for my most Thelma-esque moments. We’re not driving off any cliffs anytime soon though.
I owe much of my sanity today to Meg and I think she knows this. She has offered her help, house, pizza, and beer to me on my darkest days and has dropped her hands way down to pull me from a depth I didn’t think I could climb out of. She accepts me for all that I am, even when I’m at my craziest, and has even promised to pluck my chin hairs if and when we’re in the same nursing home someday. I will obviously do the same for her. I sometimes feel bad for being the best friend that Meg ended up with. A much cooler version of myself could have really elevated her social status in life. Sure, I realize that I am indulging in a moment of complete self-deprecation but I think she and I both know this to be true. But what would life be without she in mine and I in hers? Not good, I’ll tell you that. Her friendship really is the best and is the greatest gift I have ever received. Thank you, Janice, for pushing her to call the loner down the street.
Just now I got a text giving me permission to write about her, despite the very high security around her privacy as if she’s Meghan Markle or something. She’s out of state this weekend so the chance of me physically receiving any hell for all of the above is slim. I don’t like when she’s out of town. It kind of feels the same as when she was out sick when we were in high school. I always felt a little lost on those days and I’m a little ashamed to admit I feel like that this weekend. I’m nearly 42 years old and I miss my best friend. How pathetically yet strangely adorable. She deserves this little getaway after a few very eventful months and despite my missing her, I wish her nothing but fun and relaxation. If you know her, you’re lucky. She’s one of a kind and they simply don’t make them like her anymore. My best friend Meg. I owe her my life and, still, for that tattoo. Thanks for always being there and thanks in advance for plucking my chin hairs.