When I was a junior in High School, I was playing pool at a party against a guy who I think is really kinda weird. Great guy, just odd. As we were playing, a pretty girl was watching us. This guy said that the winner got to take this girl to the next school dance. Apparently, unlike Aladdin's Jasmine, she was a prize to be won. I didn't know her name, so I asked it of her. Later I called her by a name that I THOUGHT was her name, but it wasn't; it was simply a close variation of it. She corrected me, and I said, "Yeah, whatever, same thing." She was not amused.
As time passed, we actually became good friends, this girl and I. I started to call her Molly as an inside joke between us. She previously had a friend call her "Molly Mormon" because she was a good girl. This upset her until I reminded her that it's better to be "Molly Mormon" than "Slutty Suzy." So Molly stuck as the permanent nickname. I honestly forgot this girl had another name, other than "Molly." Over the course of a couple years, I set her up with her first decent boyfriend (Decent is an understatement. This guy is a champ.) She came to my missionary setting apart. I took her to her senior prom (after her decent boyfriend was being a jerk. He readily admits this now) the week before my mission. When I came back from the MTC, she was one of the first people to come over and visit me to cheer me up. We had our ups and downs, but, ultimately, we pulled through like best friends tend to do. She was there for me many many many times, and, in all honesty, never let me down in any wrongful way.
However, I am not blogging about her because Molly was one of my best High School, Pre-mission friends.
This blog is about today. It's about what happened when I left. In the two years between Saturday, April 25, 2009 (The Senior Prom we went to together) and Friday, April 15, 2011 (The day I came home from my mission) our interaction is as follows: She and I each sent one letter to the other. My sister took her wedding photos and I saw them on her blog.
That's it.
If it wasn't clear enough previously, this girl was my BEST FRIEND. Like family. Like a younger sister, who occasionally I had a crush on. We talked about everything. When I did the dumbest thing I've ever done, she was the first to know. When I was dating a girl right before my mission, one of the things that girlfriend and I HAD to do was to bring a Birthday present to Molly. Those may not seem like the biggest things, but truly, she was an absolute jewel in my treasure box of comrades.
The crazy thing is, not talking to her didn't really hurt. Not me. Not her. In that time, she got married, and was about ready to burst with child. I had served a mission, and probably didn't think about her more than to say, "Yeah, she never even sent me a wedding invitation. Some friend." We lead lives, we were productive and happy. We still are. If we don't talk again, I'm sure we still will be.
Lately, we have though. We facebook stalk one another a little. We talk about things, and we ran into each other in the library a few weeks ago. It's much more natural than I'd have thought, given the life changes. The great thing is, it's always been this way. I just forgot. I forgot my friend. I forgot how bright she is. I forgot how we'd laugh super hard. I forgot how she had a couple essential elements that I knew I'd have to find in my future wife (and, oh baby, have I ever. Natalie. I love you!) because they are genuine good things.
I forgot, and now, at least a little, I get to remember. :)
Thanks Molly.
