So I'm building a super highway to you-know-where with my good intentions to write.
But I've reached the point in my life where there is less sand in the top of the hour glass than there is in the bottom. And every so often life (or Life) smacks me upside the head to remind me.
Since my last affirmation that I was going to be writing more frequently, I've been through a lot of Life. My dad died. My kids went through crises. Babies were born.
But today my friend Joy died.
That's not a philosophical statement. Her name was Joy. She was the first of the Foursome to be born, followed by Nancy, me, and Norma. We were all dedicated and part of the Cradle Roll in the same year. We went through Sunday School together and we joined the Adult Choir in church the year we were in Sixth grade, all sopranos, sitting in the front row in robes that were way too big for us, but there was no junior choir and we wanted to sing. We never went to the same schools, but we were Church Friends.
That summer I moved to California where I lived for two years and I honestly don't know if they continued to sing in choir, I just know that when I moved back we didn't do choir any more. It was more fun to sit in the front row with the other high school kids and pass notes during the service. But we were all involved in Baptist Youth Fellowship, working Spaghetti Suppers and helping with Summer Vacation Bible School. And since I lived in a different town than the one from which I moved and because High School was cliquish and I was very uncool, my Church Friends were my support and my lifeline.
One year Joy and I became obsessed with the play 1776. She and I started a correspondence as John Adams (her) and Thomas Jefferson (me) -- silly, playful, but driven by love of history and Broadway musicals. How Joy loved Broadway musicals! Her high school did one every year and she was in the chorus for Funny Girl and Hello, Dolly. We worked with a summer teen drama group, doing make-up for Dial M for Murder.
We were all Rainbow Girls together - the others joining while I was still on the west coast. Joy, Nancy, and I were all Worthy Advisors (or as Mr. Sinclair used to call us "Worthy Wizards"), in that order. Nancy, Joy and I all lived and worked together at the Baptist Camp the summer between our Junior and Senior years of HS. I was Nancy's Maid of Honor. Norma sang at my wedding.
But the Foursome split up. Nancy moved to North Carolina. Norma stayed in NJ. Joy moved to Plainfield, which was still NJ but could have been the other end of the universe. I became the gypsy, living in Ohio, Upstate NY, Wisconsin, back to NY, then Massachusetts, now Florida. And at some point I lost contact with Joy. Was it the five years I didn't send out Christmas cards? I honestly can't say when or why. She didn't have a presence on Facebook because she was a teacher and didn't want students to know about her personal life. At one point I had a greeting from her on Norma's page, but she didn't respond to my request for contact info, and why? why didn't I press Norma to get it?
Because there was time. And I was living a chaotic, crazy life. And, I meant to do it. I really did.
But today I ran out of time.
Joy was a lot younger than her brother. She had won "Little Miss Rahway" beauty pageants as a little girl with blond bologna curls. She was tall but had very tiny feet. She was incredibly ticklish. You just had to pretend to tickle her across the room and she would start to giggle. Her parents got divorced when we were in High School, something unheard of.
I knew her so well, then. But I know so little about her as an adult. And it makes me sad, because I get the sense that she grew up to be a good woman, a teacher, a wife and mother. I wish I knew who she was yesterday. Because she and Nancy and Norma are the witnesses to my life, people who are not relatives who have known me, quite literally, my entire life. They know the people and places know, they had the experiences I had. They understand.
Norma messaged me the news. Nancy and I cried on the phone. And I have run out of time.
