And This is What We Call Closure

Back in 1988, I'd begun to find my niche in a world of black clothing, purple hair, and the Cure.

I'd been drawn to the music and the look long before that and had already begun my collection of new wave/post punk/punk music in junior high...collecting secretly as few of my friends - the few friends I had - didn't really approve.

But it wasn't until the late winter/early spring of 1988 that I would stumble upon the others who, like me, were drawn to this in-your-face subculture.

One girl in particular - Beasley - was relentless in her pursuit of friendship and I fell in with her easily.

In fact, we would forge a friendship that would last across decades, many hair colors, and miles as she traveled with her military husband and two children and became a *gasp* Republican.

I still look forward to her Christmas letter each year.

There was a singular consequence to this friendship however. A consequence that has always carried a twinge of sadness for me even though I would change nothing about that time in my life.

Dick.

Dick traveled in the same circle of friends...was close friends with many of my close friends. Yet, he and Beasley had an acrimonious relationship and I, as a consequence, was disliked immensely by association.

I'd yet to truly find my voice back then - my self-esteem had been in the toilet for so long - so much of the fall out was my own in that I was shy, afraid, not convinced anyone actually liked me. I didn't try to befriend him. I just allowed the waves of mutual animosity wash over me.

But I always wanted to be friends with him.

Like...a lot I wanted to be friends with him.

I don't know why it was so important to me. I also don't know why it would continue to be important...that I would feel regret over having not at least tried.

But I have regretted it.

Through the magic of facebook, I've reconnected then with so many of the people I remembered so fondly from that time in my life and I knew Nykki was still in touch with Dick having heard several of the stories that emerged from time they shared over the years in Casper and in New Orleans.

And I knew he would likely be at Nykki's wedding this weekend.

This is going to sound ridiculous.

But that knowledge had me a bit on the anxious side.

I mean, here I am, confident, comfortable in my skin, outgoing, happy. And yet, the last time I'd seen him, he'd had some pretty harsh words for me...words I hadn't forgotten or, apparently, let go.

I wanted so much for that to be in the past.

22 years past.

So when he showed up with his beautiful wife and gorgeous sons and came over to greet Brad, I hung back.

Afraid.

He looked at me, cocked his head, and said, "I know you."

I acknowledged him with a smile and told him who I was.

And the next thing I knew, I found myself enveloped in a huge hug.

Friends at last.