My Best Friend's Wedding

When it comes to personal memorabilia, I am a pack rat. My collection of memories resides in three homes in two cities, and extends as far back as the long notes exchanged between friends in high school to letters that were sent from camp during summers I spent up in the Canadian Laurentian Mountains. 

Places have faded from my life as some friends have moved on or away, or resurfaced and then disappeared for a while. But as far as friendships are concerned, one has made it into and through more than twenty years of photographs and memories.

When we first met, "Jason" was a clutzy, too-afraid-to-talk-to-girls, fourteen year old when he took to me, a pudgy and rambunctious seventh grader.

Quickly and more gracefully than any of the anxiety riddled teens that surrounded, we made it through the first set of awkward phone conversations and established the sort of kinship that a brother and sister would know best. From front row seats, we watched out for one another as we passed through high school, then college and as young adults claiming stakes in our careers and in relationships in the city we both left home to conquer.

For four years, up until my most recent move, luck had us sharing the same block. The check-ins became more frequent; dinner, brunch or a movie became a bi-weekly event. It was effortless, comfortable and safe just knowing that a friend I considered family lived right up the street.

It dawned on me today that our time now has come to a halt. There were no harsh words spoken nor did any intentional acts of malice occur. Last night, for the first time ever, I was assigned a seat in the stands. In all my life I never thought it possible but perhaps that is what happens, or in this case has to happen, to a woman when her best man takes a bride.