You may or may not have noticed the new link I placed under the one to my husband's blog. Jump is my absolute bestest gal pal. We've known each other since we were 12 or 13-so long I can't even remember exactly how old we were when we met. We lived near each other most of our lives. We went to the same summer camp, went to her prom together when her date flaked out, went to the same college (for awhile), and even lived in the same apartment there. We've been a witness to each other's lives for over a decade.
Jump taught me to love my southern heritage rather than be ashamed of it. She taught me how to cook. She introduced me to George Dickel and Southern Culture on the Skids.
Together, we endured the hell that is high school for smart, chubby girls. We've hated our bodies, loved our minds, bitched about our boyfriends, drunk too much booze, danced our asses off, knocked our heroes off their throwns (and put some of them back up there), skipped classes, smoked too many cigarettes, and one time, made her dog vomit an entire bag of Hershey's kisses in our bathtub using only hydrogen peroxide and a leash.
She was there when I became an adult, because we grew up together. In college, some 500 miles away from home, we were the only people we knew from East Tennessee. We were the only ones who could truly appreciate the irony of the Sunsphere, the gritty beauty of the Old City, the pompous backgammon players at Cup O' Joe, the deeply mourned Terrace Theater, and the importance of listening to bad music at the Mercury.
In the band at summer camp, we sang, "Son of a Preacher Man" together, because my voice sounds much better when she sings over me. We almost wet ourselves listening to the poetry teacher read Edgar Allan Poe's "The Tell-Tale Heart" on a chilly July night, huddled together on dew-drenched grass next to a dark forest that crackled with the saw-song of cicadas. We learned to dance together. We learned to not eat the chicken and dumplins in the cafeteria. At camp, we found that any dance worth going to must feature the following songs: "Walking on Sunshine," the Violent Femmes' "Waitin' for the Bus," Prince's "Kiss," and James Brown's "Sex Machine."
Now, both married, both graduated, we still love to hang because we can finish each other's sentences. Because we immediately know whether or not the other will like a particular movie, song, book, tv show, or mixed drink. She has helped me hobble through the last year without my husband by taking me out to dinner and the movies. And I must say, a huge thanks to her man for letting me spend the night in their guest room all the time in a weird facsimile of our childhood sleepovers. They deserve a lot of credit for helping to ease my time away from Lunger.
I could relate a thousand different instances from our thirteen year friendship that proves not all true love has to be romantic. My relationship with Jump is the longest one I've ever had with someone I'm not related to.
I'd say that's something worth blogging about.