We all have one. The kid we knew when we were little whose house and family were as familiar to us as our own, maybe — if your family was weird or cold or fought a lot — even a refuge from yours. One mom kept a full candy dish because she knew how I loved it and was totally cool when I’d head straight for the fridge after saying hello. (Boarding school food was never enough and never very good.)
I always wondered about Becca, who I knew when we were eight in Toronto and our Dads were both filmmakers. They lived in a huge house with all sorts of nooks and crannies. Her younger brothers — to me, an only child — were deeply exotic, their bedrooms filled with Guystuff. Everyone was insanely creative; she was inventing embroidery stitches at the time and I still have a purse she made for me then. Her older brother (crush!) was my date for a ninth-grade prom. I wore a cobalt blue lace dress, vintage, whose zipper split halfway through the evening. He gallantly covered me with his jacket.
I heard from her this week, after 27 years of silence and constant wondering, on Facebook. She’s just moved to a city about four hours’ drive away and we’re filling in the many blanks. Heaven.
Who have you re-found? Who’s re-discovered you after decades apart? How is it now?