Seven years ago I put on my first of three graduation gowns. To be fair, it was the only one complete with glitter. How sneaky we were hiding cans of glitter under our gowns until we reached the edge of the football field, giggling I’m sure. It’s funny how then, as bright-eyed eighteen-year-olds, the thought of being in our mid-twenties was absurd.
Our one stop light town, made to feel a little more important by the new addition of a Sonic Drive In, became the place we needed to escape. To leave, far away from our one horse town, was a priority. Granted, far away was – and is still – only 9 miles north, but it was far enough away to create a new path, create a new identity and distance ourselves from the typical lessons learned through our high school tenure.
As college students we became enthralled in our new paths; however, we were always flirting with our friendship established over prom dress dramas, Sadler Road escapades and Thursday night bonfires.
Our friendship became a places of comfort. Always necessary, always taken for granted.
How fortunate we are to have a common childhood, a town that was a constant place of encouragement, and shared memories of things we sometimes wish we could forget.
In seven years I went from liking these girls because the options were slim to respecting these girls because they’ve grown into really amazing women.