Learn From It

Long friendships have their privileges, and I am one privileged human being.

One of the privileges of a long and close friendship is that in so many situations, words are not required. I'm willing to go so far as to say that words are clunky and awkward enough that they would interfere in such sublime moments.

Such is the case with one of my dearest friends, Judy. I started calling her “Babycakes” a long time ago, after I first read

“Tales of the City (Tales of the City Series, V. 1)” (Armistead Maupin)

At first she thought it was a sexist and belittling nickname, but I told her to read the book and she'd discover what I meant by it. She did. And she got it. Now she calls me Babycakes, too. I don't remember the last time I called her by her given name. And that seems to make us both smile.

I got to see Judy last night, along with her husband (and my friend) Matt and their son, Sean. It's difficult to hide anything from someone like Judy—because of our long friendship of course, but more because of who she is—and why would I want to? That's the finest of privileges that comes with our kind of friendship. It's not intrusive, it's more like a mirror—or a bright light from a unique angle. I won't say it isn't tiring, but it's a good kind of tired. Being honest with yourself is sometimes an effort.

But I wouldn't trade a thing about us, except that she lives too far away. Last night I told her as I hugged her goodbye that I loved her and I missed her. She said the same things back. And the words seemed beside the point: the hug was already speaking all that needed said.

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