Post its

When I was fifteen, I came home from my second trip to Germany to find my bedroom covered in post-it note love from my best friend, Miriam. Most of them were corny plays on words. On the ceiling where I'd spent hours creating the night sky with glow-in-the-dark stars, one read, "You're a stellar friend!" And stuck to my lamp was, "You light up my life." I remember smiling and feeling particularly loved as I took down the notes one by one. Weeks later, as I was grabbing a pair of underwear from my dresser drawer another post-it note was uncovered: "Bet you didn't think I'd be here!" That one I saved. :)

...

Miriam has just left me here in La Roda after a wonderful 9-day visit. A friendship like ours is one of many things that just doesn't seem to translate into Spanish. We haven't seen each other for a year and a half (the brief visit in France doesn't count), and there were too many things to catch up on. She's been virtually incommunicado for the past two years, holed up in Williamstown MA, at grad school so this was the first time in a long time that we've been able to BE together. Although we only left the house once the whole time she was here, I feel as though I've been on vacation--a vacation for my soul.

It is so refreshing to be in the presence of someone who knows me so well. Someone with whom I can begin telling a story (about anything) and who understands immediately all the nuance and complexity involved; who listens with unbiased ears and whose genuine interest incites good solid advice. Our conversations wove themselves flawlessly together, alternating back and forth, adding to one another's stories with our own experiences and opinions. Cathartic is the first word that comes to mind.

I came back from leaving her at the train station with tears in my eyes. It's hard to live so far from so many of the people I love and so many of the ones who love me--G-chat and Skype are poor seconds to face-to-face communication.

Angelines left for work, and I was alone in the house. Hoping to read myself to siesta (Miriam's visit and sleep turned out to be incompatible), I went upstairs and grabbed my book. Placed carefully behind my bookmark, I discovered a small pink post-it note written in Miriam's unmistakable, artistic hand: "Te quiero mucho!"

I've since found three others...and I have the feeling there will be more. It's good to feel loved.

-Thank you, Miriam. I love you, too.