My mother sometimes would be telling someone stories of her youth and mention her best friend, S, and how they could get together after not having seen each other in years and it would suddenly be as if they were back in school together.
“Years melt away” is the cliche, I suppose.
Old friends,
Sat on their park bench
Like bookends.
A newspaper blown through the grass
Falls on the ’round toes
On the high shoes
Of the old friends.
Or old friends hang out in the driveway, taking turns playing badminton with the Girl.
While the Boy watches intently
Occasionally Mama gets into the game, and then we’re all in trouble.
Meanwhile, the Old Friend calmly entertains everyone.
Especially the Boy.
