This photo is not very high quality, but these women are: Kylah and Gen were the first friends that I made when I changed elementary schools in 4th grade, the twentieth anniversary of which is at the beginning of next month. They lived in my neighbourhood and on the first terrifying day we sat in a row not unlike this one, squashed into one seat on the school bus.
Gen told me that she had a pet Shetland pony living in her basement and I tried very hard to believe her because I so wanted us to be friends; Kylah invited me round to her house after school and introduced me to the twin pleasures of the Beach Boys and chewing on raw fennel plucked from the garden. Sometimes, maybe, we talked about what we imagined our weddings would be like.
Schlepping my way from Baltimore to White Plains, New York, via a two hours-delayed coach that smelled like fried chicken, and a Metro North train, and a taxi in which the driver initially refused to drive because he wanted to wait for more passengers (‘I am PAYING YOU and I am LATE’ I said in my best New York Lady voice, ‘DRIVE THE TAXI’), was kind of annoying. But the moment I clapped eyes on Kylah, poised to don her wedding gown, I knew that I would have crawled through fried chicken in my cocktail dress to be there.
