Dearest Friend

Anybody who knows me for more than five minutes knows about my wild love for my brother from a different mother. He is my very dearest and oldest friend. Jim, has been my very best friend for many decades now. We have been friends since I was nine years old. I am 47 now, so you do the math. The very first time we spent the day together we did absurd things and laughed at each other. We let our imaginations soar and the games in our head became reality. I remember that day the way I remember the day my kids were born. It really was that important to me.
I am close to his mother, loving her for bringing me the person I first connected in a "chosen to be with me always" way. When I go north and visit, she is always on my list of people to see. We laugh and tell stories of her children and mine. We hug in the bond of love we share for her son. There isn't enough time on earth for me to thank her for producing this brilliant, charming, funny man, whom I have spent much of my life adoring.
Jim and I haven't lived in the same town since we were 18 years old, yet we talk several times a month and send each other letters or funny cards, always mindful that we are lucky to have any relationship last this long. He is single and travels the world, while I am married and raising kids. We are polar opposites in the way our lives turned out. He had no desire to have children of his own, but teaches several hundred children a year as a high school teacher. I have four of my own kids and would rather be beaten with a stick than try and teach anybody's kids to do anything. One of the things we have in common is the tremendous respect we have for each others choices.
I am different around Jim. I forget that I am aging and my body doesn't resemble, even the slightest, what it did when I was nine. I am exuberant around him and dance in his living room as he tells me wild stories of his latest adventure. I sit and listen intently as he whispers the triumph and tragedy of what has transpired in his life. I am riveted by this man, and always have been.
When we were in high school, we were asked if we were going to get married. We would look at each other completely puzzled at the inquiry. Years later we would understand why folks would think we would be together always, but we always knew it would be in so much a different way than any conventional idea anybody else had. As much as we got along and loved each other's company, we were not each other's type. We did go on a singular date to see what people were talking about when they would tell us we were perfect for each other. We went and saw "An Officer and a Gentleman" with Richard Geer and then off to the neighborhood pizza joint for dinner. The evening should have been really romantic. Let's face it, if a couple can't pull romance out of that scenario they are brother and sister. So there it was. We were not a couple, we were family.
Jim is not a web kinda guy. He rarely emails, never gets on social sites and would rather be tortured than cyber chat. He calls when he can, and we see each other when I travel up to see my own parents. I am totally hooked up to the web because of the book. i am grateful to be re-connected with my friends and access information in the blink of an eye. I have a great appreciation for FB, Myspace and other sources where I can contact my kids when I need to since they are scattered to the wind, most days. If I want to know what goes on in their world, I need to check their statuses.
I had wished Jim were more accessible to me. I am definitely into instant gratification, so the idea of having him online was really appealing. "Oh, girl, I cannot!" Jim looked at me as if I had asked him for one of his vital organs. I instantly understood that he hated the idea and would not be participating. Enough said. I have not asked again since that fateful moment when I was certain he would never. I guess I understand why. He is surrounded by high school kids all year who are hyper connected. The last thing he probably wants is more exposure. Jim is a somewhat quiet, and somewhat reserved at home. He relishes his peace and quiet, reading multiple books at one time, rarely watching TV or listening to music. When staying at his house, the silence at first is deafening for me, since I am used to barking dogs, meowing cats, driving stereos and competing TVs. After the first day, I get used to the quiet and start my growing appreciation for all things peaceful. I learned what life is like when there are no electronics on in a house. I retrained my brain to live temporarily without the constant buzz of voices all around spouting a thousand different facts and opinions in a single afternoon.
When I am with Jim, I live as he lives. We eat out or cook in his kitchen, drink wine, talk books, laugh at silly jokes, sit in coffee shops and read to each other. We play games in book stores using the titles as playful weapons at each other. I live simply, delectably, when I am his guest.
I found a page on facebook today where his previous students can go and pay their respects to one of the most loved teachers they have ever had. I sat stunned and smiling as I saw pictures of my dear friend and his students. I saw where he has made his mark. I was able to bare witness to a part of his life I have never really known. It was a good day for me. I felt comfort in seeing his face. He is traveling again, as he does every summer, so I am cut off from talking with him. Soon he will be home, calling me telling me of his trip, laughing at what all went wrong and regaling stories of the people he met and the food he ate (my favorite part). I will tell him about the page where he is highlighted as a teacher celebrity by the students who love him so much, to which he wave away the comment and mumble, "such nonsense" under his breath. His humility will over rule any ego he may be tempted by. That is the great thing about Jim, he has no idea just how important he really is.