When I was a kid growing up in Montgomery, Alabama, my best friend was Angel Sanders. She's the one on the far left, and then there's me, with a flower growing out of my head, at my 10th birthday party. We lived two blocks away from each other and spent countless afternoons at each others' houses. There were spend-the-night parties, attempted girls' club formations (one named after Fonzie's girlfriend Pinky) and of course the endless chatter about which boys were cute. Specifically, Angel was always infatuated with Damon Summers, and I never quite got over Scott Marks, even though he never "liked me back." Once, Angel and I got caught looking up sex in the encyclopedia, and when Angel's mom walked in, we quickly turned the page over to sewing. What ensued was a lengthy sewing tutorial that Angel and I endured with guilt and excruciating boredom. After all, it was the 70's. We wanted to macrame! With boys!
Our family moved to South Carolina when I was 16, and Angel and I kept in touch with letters. Of course, those thinned out through the years. One, though, I remember clearly: I was 18, a freshman in college, and I received a brief note from Angel, accompanied by a photo of her in a hospital bed holding a baby. She had gotten married. My heart fell into my stomach. And thus our two worlds diverged, Angel embarking on an adventure that was far beyond my comprehension. I did have the pleasure of seeing her one more time, when we were 21 (I think). I met her lovely son Josh and had ice cream with her and her mom at the mall where we had had so many childhood adventures (that mall had an ice skating rink in the center and also housed a Mexican restaurant which had been the scene of our first independent eating-out experience... ah, the memories!).
It just occurs to me that it sounds like I'm writing Angel's memorial. On the contrary! I just talked to Angel this afternoon. After nearly 20 years of silence and regular attempts to Google her name -- Angel Sanders, Angela Gay Sanders, Angel Davis, Angela Sanders Davis, Angel G. Davis, etc. -- I managed to track down my old friend. Last night, it finally occured to me that I still remember her mom's name. Betty Sanders. Googled that. Found her. Payed $2.95 for her address and phone number. Bingo. Dailed it this afternoon and it felt eerily familiar -- indeed, the very same number I dialed countless times 30 years ago. Angel currently lives 3 blocks from her mom, remarried two years ago, and has four kids including an infant. I can't wait till we get a chance to fill in the gaps.
2 comments:
It's nice reconnecting with old friends, isn't it? The only thing better is when new friends like you come along with the deal.
Aw, shucks, Steve! Sundays just haven't been the same without you.
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