“There’s not a word yet, for old friends who’ve just met.”
As a kid, I moved around more than anyone cares to. I’ve had to attend 10 schools in my first 13 years of education. Eventually, you get the hang of which people to trust, and which to avoid. It becomes a second nature, a way of navigating the world by the feeling in your gut. Some people, you can just tell, will be your friends. You meet them, and just know. Friendship at first sight or merely familiar mannerisms that make you recall old friends? Regardless, they make your world a little less lonely when you arrive in a new town.
Then there are those pals you never saw coming. The ones you may have overlooked or even mistrusted at the beginning, and who reveal themselves to be the most loyal of companions. Often times, the people who kept in touch when we moved weren’t the ones I felt closest to when I lived there. Yet they were willing and able to grapple the trans-atlantic divide. We would become pen-pals, and check in every once in a while if only to see where we ended up on the map. Tonight I get to see my high-school friends, a close-knit group that I make a point of seeing whenever we are all in town, occasions which have become rare of late. We are spread out over the globe, over the wide stretches of the North, and it is uplifting how little distance matters with some friends.