Comfortable

I know a really wonderful guy. We grew up together. Literally. He knew me when I was a little bean pole. We always saw eye to eye. Again, literally. He attempted daring bicycle stunts down our rather steep hill as I sat on our white picket fence, dripping apple juice all over my Sunday best. He never gave me cooties; he never pulled my hair. Even during grade school, he was the perfect gentleman. Fast forward a couple of years to the summer before high school - and he moved away to the other side of the continent.

He didn't say goodbye before he left.

At first I was devastated. We weren't best friends, of course. But there was always something oddly comforting knowing that he was just two houses down from me. It was mildly amusing having him throw rocks at my window when he needed me for something (usually for me to finish primping so we could get to school on time). It was comforting having a boy traipse through woodland forests with me as we searched for my lost dog. It was nice waiting with someone for our carpool to arrive. And considering that our extracurriculars were very similar, it was reassuring knowing that there would always be a familiar face at something that might be completely foreign to me.

It's been eight years since then. My baby sister is going to college, and we're both about to graduate. Even the best of friends would lose touch, lose contact, over such a long time period. So I think it's pretty amazing that we've managed to touch base every now and then. I mean, I barely know what my best friend from high school is doing now.

For the past week, I've been in New York. I've never been in the Big Apple before, and I figured this might the last time I could actually get out of Chicago for a nice little vacation. But, no matter how much a city girl I might be, New York seemed somewhat intimidating. Luckily, my childhood friend has lived here for the past four years.

We talk every now and then, but rarely on a constant basis. And though I felt somewhat awkward asking him if we could stay with him, I knew he wouldn't refuse.

What's amazing is what a great host he has been. I only wanted a place to stay. I didn't expect him to go around and do all the touristy things I wanted to do with me. I thought I would be crashing on the floor - maybe get some sofa space; I didn't expect him to give up his bed. Even after eight years, he's still the perfect gentleman whom I've always known.

New York has been so great. The food. The sights. But what's been even better has been rediscovering what a great guy friend I have always had. Maybe he knew, eight years ago, that we would stay friends, and a goodbye wasn't necessary. I'm glad we've kept in touch. Every girl needs a good guy friend that she can depend on. I've had several guy friends over the years, but he's always remained the best. Other guys have disappointed me in the past, but maybe it's just because they pale in comparison.

The mark of a true friendship, I think, is being able to talk to someone freely. Without reservation. And with him, I know I can tell him anything. And I think he knows that he can talk to me about anything, ask me for anything, as well.

I know I'm the queen of awkward. But I rarely feel that way when I'm talking to him. It doesn't matter how long ago our last conversation was. We don't have awkward silences. They're comfortable milieus. That is what makes a friendship.

He's comfortable to me.