Last night I had to say goodbye to one of my best friends, Rachel, as it was her last day in Houston before college. As is tradition, we went to a drive-thru and sat in the empty parking lot to have a life talk.
These life talks, also known by my friend group as “car talks,” are precious moments in which we choose to click pause on our chaotic lives and simply sit in one of our cars, play Hillsong United, and vent. I don’t know what it is about just sitting in a car and talking, but throughout our high school years the conversations that took place in each of our cars felt sacred…as if the confines of the car were impenetrable walls in which our secrets and fears were safe.
Sitting with Rachel in the empty McDonald’s parking lot, I felt an overwhelming sense of nostalgia as I realized how formative these car talks were to my experience in high school. My four best friends and I were guilty of staying late, hours after practice, simply sitting in our cars and saying whatever was on our minds…experiencing moments of peace as we forgot about the endless to-do lists that we needed to complete once we got home.
As Rachel and I both reminisced about high school and shared our fears for the upcoming school year, I realized that these talks were the times when I truly saw my friends for who they were. Whether it was a car talk of consolation after heartbreak, or a car talk where we felt closest to God and shared moments of prayer, these conversations were moments when I truly experienced the wholeness and fulfillment that genuine friendship can bring.
The crazy thing is, these life talks started with us just sitting in our cars talking about boys and spilling drama, but somehow with maturity these talks evolved into our deepest life talks, mental breakdowns, and greatest realizations. We would walk to our cars knowing that we had hours of homework to do, dreading the unavoidable all-nighter, but if one of us said the words “Let’s have a car talk,” no one refused.
These moments were crucial to our mental welfare in high school, and it is crazy that the St. Agnes parking lot may hold little to no significance to any other student, but to us it was home. High school felt like the ninth circle of "The Inferno" sometimes, but as I look back on pictures of the five of us having One Direction dance parties in the dance room or throwing anti-Valentine's Day sleepovers I wish that I could have it all back.
Maybe in 80 years we won’t be able to do our One Direction dance moves anymore, and maybe our memories will just be stories we tell our kids one day. Our picture frames might be replaced with new photographs and our college friends will hear only of our high school friends’ names in passing, but the five of us will never forget the impact we made on each other.
One day when I go through the carpool lane to pick my kids up from school, I hope that the confines of my car will hold the same magic that they do now. When I ask “How was your day at school?,” they might roll their eyes and give me a one-word answer, but I hope that if there is ever a time when they truly need me I can be there for them like my four best friends were there for me.
