Mike drove to Texas and spent nine days with me. Except for a couple of brief visits, we'd not seen each other in seven years, but I knew that we'd have a great time together.
We painted my bathroom yellow, orange and turquoise. We spent two afternoons at YaYe's on Commerce Street, poking around through rusted things we both like. I took pictures. He trimmed bushes. We made pies for Thanksgiving and discovered a little hole-in-the-wall Mexican cafe.
He brought a box of photographs and letters from our months together in 2007-2008. We looked at those pictures and re-read the cards, reminiscing about how we met on a road neither of us had ever traveled before.
He tells about looking at me through his rear-view mirror and seeing a stranger in a Mini in his glass, thinking Ugh Oh! I tell him that I'd never done such an outrageous thing, but in my altered state of solo traveling mind, I'd thrown caution out the window miles before Hope.
We've both changed some in the past seven years. He--who's gotten mellower--says I've turned into a smart ass, a moniker I rather enjoy playing out.
My friend Janet P. asked me something a couple of weeks ago that has stayed with me throughout this adventure: What aspect of yourself does Mike bring out? Free spiritedness? Having a playmate? Does Mike bring out the playful child archetype? she wondered.
The answer to that question is still percolating in my mind, but here's a line from Anais Nin that speaks to the question:
"Each friend represents a world in us, a world possibly not born until they arrive. And it is only by this meeting that a new world is born."
We are all galaxies of planets within ourselves. Each friend takes us to his or her world for a visit, and when in Rome (by any other name) you get to speak Italian.
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