I Have A Friend Who Taught Me What A Friend Is

Today is my very oldest and dearest friend's birthday. Happy birthday, Rock! 

There are friends, and then there are friends.

Rock is the latter. Yes, I call her Rock. Also, she calls me Rock. We can't quite remember why, but we've been carrying on with it since 1999 and there is no reason to stop now.  We haven't lived in the same place since we graduated from high school in 2002, but our friendship is indestructible by distance, or anything else.  We live pretty different and separate lives, but our relationship stays in sync just like we were still spending every afternoon on Rock's couch, eating Dorito's and drinking Sprite from cans with straws (the height of badass-ness for us in high school). Through time and experience, Rock has defined to me what a friend is.

A friend is this:

A friend is there for you.  "Being there" means different things in different friendships. To Rock and Rock, friendship has meant: bringing chocolate and Tylenol PM after the first breakup ever; listening to tears after countless fights with Moms; driving together to a boarding school (which shall remain nameless) to buy matching T-Shirts from said school to indulge in gigantic crush on boy (who shall remain nameless) who attended said school; staying in the car together after the first car crash despite law against passengers in cars with newly licensed drivers; standing together in front of enraged Principal threatening National Honor Society removal for visiting mulletsgalore.com on Catholic School computers; holding hair for first college puking of Bud Light and a full bag of Swedish Fish; yelling back at Sister Nasty the no-fun chaperone nun in defense of Rock when Sister Nasty would not let other Rock cry about losing her teddy bear in Greece; answering the drunkest and saddest of crying phone calls at 3am; hiding on the back of the stage together for school plays because we hadn't learned the choreography; flying up the East Coast to help bury roommate and best friend who died in a car accident at age 22; and spending every saved penny to serve as Maid of Honor in wedding and then patiently listening and unerringly supporting during subsequent divorce.  This is a friend, to me.

That ain't even half of the times Rock and I have been there for each other during the best and worst of life. We see each other only a handful times a year, and sometimes go painful full weeks without talking, but there is nothing under the sun that could change the fact that Rock is my rock. The kind of friendship we have is not based on similar interests, sharing clothes (Rock has observed that the one flaw in our friendship is that she wears size 5 shoes and I wear a 10), needing someone to split the rent or a pizza with, proximity, or mutual friends.  A Rock kind of friendship only comes with years and years and tears and experiences.  


Rock, thank you and I love you.  I hope you have the happiest birthday and a great 26th year.