Memory is a fickle thing. It can change and morph, memories becoming entirely different with time and distance. When I was young I had a phenomenal memory. "Photographic" is what my teachers called it. All I knew was that it was easy for me to memorize my notes and that I could summon up the faces of everyone I'd ever met with ease. Subsequently, school was easy for me - the academic part anyway. The social part, well, that was a bit more perplexing.
A serious blow to the side of my head in a near-fatal car accident during my mid-twenties put a sudden end to that phenomenal memory. (Patience, patience, I'll tell you more about that in a future chapter!) In the aftermath, the memories of my childhood and early adult years are ridden with holes and empty spaces where once rich and detailed reminiscence once dwelled. Consequently, I'll muddle along as best I can in the retelling of these adventures, trying to keep the details straight and attempt to keep from confusing you, my readers, in the process.
One person I remember very well was my best-friend, Robin. Robin was a blond-haired sweetheart who I looked up to, desperately wanted to be like and very much envied. I loved her with that fierce, protective love reserved for the 'best' of best-friends. I missed her desperately when we were apart and fought with her when we were together too much. We were fairy princesses, intrepid explorers, avid Barbie-doll players and pollywog farmers together. Our imaginations led us into worlds we inhabited for short periods of time, only to return to the more mundane and drab existence of reality.
Robin and I spent many a night cuddled up together under a tent of blankets, planning our futures together. (Of course we were going to marry and live beside one another in matching houses one day. It was fate!). In those pre-homophobic days of the '60's (well, no, homophobia was alive and well, it was the openness about homosexuality in general that was absent), Robin and I held hands nearly everywhere we went. Meeting new challenges, fearful situations and exciting experiences with hands firmly grasped, each of us knowing always that the other was there beside us.
Robin was my nearly constant companion from the age of 2 until her parents divorced and she moved away at the age of 12, my first truly tragic loss in life. Though we tried to maintain our friendship by telephone, letter and occasional visits, slowly, mercilessly the years and distance built walls between us until our friendship was nothing more than a beloved memory held close in my heart. I still think of her sometimes and wish her well, praying for her happiness, and appreciate the role she played in my life.
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