I Remember

             My day started as all days.  I sat at the breakfast table, trying to solve the crossword puzzle in the newspaper.  I read 34 down “Charles Lindberg’s nickname” and I knew the answer was “Lucky Lindy.”  There is a little-known song about Charles Lindbergh’s solo flight across the Atlantic Ocean also called “Lucky Lindy.” My best friend Chris taught me the words to that song as she drove us towards Leech Lake, Minnesota on an August afternoon.  As we sang the song, we created hand motions to "over the ocean” and “plucky, lucky Lindy” hoping to divert attention from our off-key duet.  We laughed when we realized that we were antagonizing our two teenage daughters sitting in the back seat.  We kept singing.  I should call Chris and tell her about the crossword puzzle answer.  Then I remember…I can’t.

            Throughout the day, thoughts of Chris startled my mind like lightening strikes. As I loaded the washer, I spotted the series of four photos of us taken in a coin-operated photo booth.  There we sat, growing-gray mothers wearing sunglasses, making silly faces, leaning our heads together, laughing at the camera. I framed my photos of us.   I wondered where Chris put her photos.  Then I remember…I’ll never know.

I walked into my office and noticed the ceramic tile on the wall that reads, “What a good friend you are to me.”  The tile shows the backs of two women sitting on a bench looking out at a lake.  It reminds me of the many times Chris and I sat together and looked at the loons or the time we spotted a bald eagle.  I should buy the same tile for Chris.  Then I remember…it would be a waste of money. 

            When I looked up at the sky that evening I found the three stars of Orion’s belt.  Chris and I learned about Orion when we were children, camping with her family.  I remember one thrilling evening when we saw the Northern Lights appear in the Minnesota sky.  I can still bring the image of those colors radiating over our heads.  Chris isn’t looking up into the sky tonight.

            I can no longer call Chris and I don’t have another childhood friend to reminisce with.  But, I remember Chris when I hear two friends laughing or I look up at the stars.  I have regrets that we didn’t talk more times, sing more songs, sit longer on a bench together.  Chris died over ten years ago.  I miss her still.  I doubt that my brain will ever remember what my heart doesn’t understand.