She Was My Person — Until She Wasn’t
Rachel and I didn’t “become” friends.
We just always were.
We sat next to each other in elementary school because our last names were close in the alphabet.
By high school we shared clothes.
By college we shared bad apartments and worse boyfriend stories.
By the time we had kids, we shared calendars and carpools.
She had four.
I had two.
Rachel used to stand in my kitchen with a baby on her hip and another tugging on her leg and say, “This is the part they don’t tell you about.”
“The noise?” I’d ask.
