When I was in grade school, I had a best friend, J. For five years we did everything together. It was a lucky friendship; we lived across the street from each other, our families got along, the suburb was growing so there were woods and fields near along with lots of construction, meaning lots of cool half-finished houses to visit in the evenings. It was a kid wonderland. Summers we played day and night. In eighth grade we had a painful split, then I took off for Catholic high school and she stayed public. She went on to be the good girl and I went on to be the bad one. She continued to be my neighbor for a couple more years but we rarely spoke. Later she moved, and we lost touch.

Okay, June 2004. I'm back in my hometown, at a festival with Greg. I'm watching this wild happy little girl dancing to the music. I look up and see that her mom is J.! I would know her anywhere! And she knew me. This is all stunning to me because I have almost no childhood connections outside of my brothers and sisters. It's like, wow, somebody who knew me when I was little. We talked for a short time in the middle of a crowd, I gave her my card and we parted. This week, two months later, an email from her. Catch up stuff. I emailed her back. I think from this point it's about being in touch now and then. But I have this feeling--this feeling like when you unexpectedly find a beloved old doll in some old box. Just kind of warm and secure like you're home again.