I caught a passing glimpse of July today, and she made me smile. She looks the same as ever, sprightly and carefree as ever. She was laughing gleefully with her mouth full, giggling at something funny that someone had said, and rubbing her hand up and down her brown-skinned arm. Her shiny hair, which was probably combed clean and straight early this morning, was pulled back and curly-cued around the edges of her face now because she’d been in the pool all day. She was looking truly lovely in her torn denim jeans and plaid sleeveless top, bright-teethed, bright-eyed.
Gazing on her, I took a deep breath, let out a deep sigh. It is I who have aged; not she. It is I who lost touch with my sweet friend; she’s always been there. I turned back to my laundry, to my summer closet-purging, to my long list of missed vacations and minutiae, wondering when it was we last climbed an elm tree together. Wondering if standing momentarily under the elm’s cool canopy and day-dreaming about her lost friendship was enough.