It’s crazy, isn’t it? This year, I’ll be 21 and you’ll be 22. We were nine years old when we met. God, that makes me feel old. There aren’t many people in this world that are as lucky as we are. Most people don’t even leave high school with the same people they started it with let alone still be best friends with someone they went to elementary school with.
It was fourth grade. I was the new girl at Lamar Township Elementary, and you were returning from a year of homeschooling. In a school that was only one hallway and our 25-people class was the largest they had ever seen, it was hard to go unnoticed.
I was quickly dubbed as the weird horse girl.
But I wasn’t alone. You were a weird horse girl, too. And so, our friendship grew throughout the rest of elementary school into middle school. Through horse riding and 4-H and running.
And finally, through high school where we got closer than we ever were.
By our sophomore year, you and I were up and coming running stars and two-thirds of our inseparable trio. Our other third doesn’t speak to us anymore, but we both wonder about her all the time.
Just one of the many friendships that didn’t make it past high school graduation.
And for a while, I was worried we would become one of those friendships. I was going to school near Philly, and you were being shipped off to Colorado Springs to the Airforce Academy. We were going to go from seeing each other every day to a couple times a year.
But we didn’t.
We wrote each other every week when you were at basic, and when you got back we picked up right where we left off. My best friend wasn’t going anywhere, figuratively speaking. Now we are almost halfway done with our college careers.
I’m hoping I’ll be able to fly out to watch you graduate.
And then we can go to whichever country is calling our names. One last hoorah before we have to be proper adults. You’ll go wherever the Air Force is sending you, and I’ll probably be coming back to Philly.
If they send you to some cool country, I’m coming to visit you.
They always say that if a friendship lasts more than seven years, it’ll last a lifetime. We’ve already passed that point, and now you’re stuck with me. You know too much now.
You’re the person I’d call to come help me hide the body. You are my person ("Grey’s Anatomy" reference that you don’t know because you don’t watch it).
I’m going to end up planning my wedding around your schedule.
You and your family have been there for me when I was at my lowest. You guys took me in at a moment’s notice when someone kicked me out. I stored some of my stuff at your house after I moved all my things out of their house.
I stay at your place when you aren’t even there.
I’ve been a lost cause for many, many years now, and yet you choose to stick around. You could have easily just walked away because I was too much drama and brokenness, but you didn’t.
You had no idea what to do except be there for me.
When I broke down in class our senior year, you and Laurel just sat on the bathroom floor with me because neither of you knew what to do. We sat there in silence while I cried, and then we all went back to class.
I still call you bawling all the time.
We Snapchat every day and, usually once a month or so, we call each other to just talk and vent. I cherish those phone calls. I saw you in December and probably won’t see you again until next December, but that’s OK.
I will continue to cherish those phone calls and ugly Snapchats you send me.
I feel bad for people who don’t have a friend like you. In today’s world, there aren’t many people you can trust. Society is full of two-faced, fake people that look for any chance they can to stab you in the back.
And I truly feel sorry for those that don’t have a best friend like I do.
Because at the end of the day, I know I can call you and you’ll pick up. I know I can go back home and always have a place to stay with my non-biological family.
I know that until the day I die, I will have a best friend that loves me for me and everything that comes with me.