Posted By startswithanx on December 1, 2009

Whenever I hear the term “meet me halfway,” I think of my childhood friend, “A.” Whether it was to show off our Christmas presents, work on our Girl Scout badges or practice back walkovers together, we’d never let the other walk the entire route to our house alone. Rather, we’d meet each other halfway and then walk the rest of the way together.

A whole nine houses separated our childhood homes. I don’t know if that speaks to the depth of our laziness or our friendship. I’ll pick the latter, considering we ended every phone call with “meet me halfway” up until our final days in that neighborhood.

“A” was the first friend I let behind the curtain of my family life.

My father, Cliff, wasn’t the kind of guy who welcomed visitors. You wouldn’t catch him asking our friends how their parents were doing or how cheerleading try-outs went. Instead, he’d act like they were another piece of furniture. Zero acknowledgment whatsoever. Either that or he’d ask to speak to us privately and then order us to tell our friend to go home, in a voice so loud our visitor would meet us at the front door. While his demeanor scared most our friends from ringing the doorbell with his car in the driveway, “A’s” carefree nature didn’t let her realize she was supposed to be intimidated.

She’d ask him why we kept so many cars in our yard that he didn’t drive. He’d tell her he planned to fix them up and sell them. She’d beg him to translate any word she could think of into Spanish. He’d oblige. She’d ask if she could change the channel on the TV that always played the “Today” show in the mornings. He’d laugh at her bravery.

Pretty soon they were signing songs together in my dad’s car on the way to school. When Cliff would drop me off and lay on his horn, yelling out the window how much he loved me and Serena, I would cringe with embarrassment. “A” would beam and squeal with laughter: “Your dad is SO cool!”

I remember clearing my throat one day as we walked to school with our “Adventures in Babysitting” books spread in front of our faces. “You do that the exact same way your dad does,” she observed without looking up from her page. Wow, she really knows Cliff, I thought. And, to know my dad is to know my family.

“A” was welcome at our house when every dish in the kitchen was dirty. She knew exactly when one of Venus and my fights was about to get ugly. She’d put Serena’s hair in a ponytail when I was running late. She sat in the back of Chet’s temperamental car as he called it every filthy name in the book. She was there when my mom’s highlight job was so bad “A” had to ask if she could get her money back.

She was at home in our home. And that’s why my heart still hurts when I visit that house (where Chet and his family now live) and drive past the cul-de-sac where “A’s” parents still live. She ended her life in her family’s garage 16 years ago, shortly after her 17th birthday.

Needless to say, we were devastated. Cliff told me a couple years afterward that he cried when he found out. At that time in my life, I think I’d seen him cry twice.

“A” and I drifted apart after elementary, but always had a clock-rewinding bond. We would pass each other in our junior high halls and share an inside joke. I’d still laugh to myself when I remembered the day she told me she chose her spot at the family dinner table because it was closest to the telephone. And we always had an exercise partner in each other. The last summer of her life, though, we really reconnected. I remember picking up the phone, dialing her number and saying, “Hey, it’s X. Meet me halfway?” We both had our driver’s licenses at that point, but old habits die hard.

We went back to her house this time. She sat me on her twin bed, locked her bedroom door, and poured her heart into my lap. We may as well have been wearing our Punky Brewster hi-tops with “Eternal Flame” blasting in the background because it felt like nothing had changed.

EVERYTHING was back to old times. She called the house one day and I answered, only to take a message for Cliff. Could he please call her back ‘cause “A” was in the market to buy a car and wanted to know if my dad could part with one of his for the right price. Never before nor since did I have a friend call my house to speak to one of my parents, not me.

I told my dad about a memory I had of “A” not too long ago. As soon as he heard the words “That reminds of this one time with ‘A’,” he had an ear-to-ear smile. That’s the effect she had/has on people. Even her friend’s scary dad down the street.

Categories: family, memories, relationships, this happened, tribute, utah