1313

Gifted with a memory of one thousand stereotypical elephants, I can remember everything about this day 31 years ago.
For the last 7 years, I have remembered it all on my own, yet it's a memory for two.
Normally, I remember it fondly, sweetly and with a warm slug of Cinzano. Today, I'm all out of sorts it seems. Today, I feel alone.


If you're a teenage girl (as I was 31 years ago), the moment you declare a 'best buddies' statement, is a momentous one. Not unlike when a boy says 'will you go out with me?'. With girls, it's slightly different, it's a mutual understanding - not one person asks, not one person accepts. It's an understanding that you'll be there... no matter what. You're the keeper of secrets/thoughts, you're the keeper of dreams. You should be prepared to listen without judgement and be wholly honest. It's a demanding relationship, but with exceptional rewards.


Nhandi was that. We had that freaky thing of being so in tune with each other. Maybe because we were so close, because we spent so much time together, because we were of similar ilk. Maybe all of those things. But there were so many times when we'd finish each other's sentences, or start singing the same song at the same time. Or Nhandi would answer a question as I was about to ask it. The baby-doll sandals come to mind.


All I said was 'Nhandi, if I were to ask you something....' and she said 'yes you can wear them'. She knew me. She made me feel less shy, less of the awkward, more alive.


So 31 years ago, we bunked a youth group and took ourselves to Plumstead. We watched the Lost Boys. I slow danced to a cheesy pop song, she probably did the same. I don't recall because I was so 'into' that guy. And we ran for a train - with the boys, we ran down streets to the train station because it was the last train home. We were laughing and shrieking. I remember so clearly getting to the train station with minutes to spare and looking over at her, her head right back as she cackled with laughter, her hair all wild, hanging off the arm of M. And I felt so happy - that I had a boyfriend (oh the heady heights of being 14 years and 51 weeks) and amazing friendships. I was so in love with life. And we got on the 10pm train and immediately stuck out heads out the window to wave and holler at the boys. And as the train pulled away and the wind hit us full on, we carried on laughing and grinning and then started singing (completely spontaneous) a song. That was our connection right there. And that was that, best friends... or in the vernacular of a 15 year old "1313 4 eva & eva".


Only she's not here now... so that forever and ever is quite one-sided.


Today I'm angry she's not here, desperately sad I can't speak with her (because speak TO her, I do and often) and I just want my Nhandi. I would just like to hear her laugh.


And me remembering this day is not harking back to the past and blah blah - I VERY much live in the moment, but today, today I like to remember the day she became the sister I chose for myself.


PS, it's funny how grief works - you think you're okay and then all of a sudden you're not. It gets easier to deal with and then it doesn't. It creeps up on you and goes BOO! You're always on the back foot with grief. And I do tell myself off, that it's been 7 years (3 months) and I really should be more in control. But sometimes, I'm just very sad she's not here. Sometimes, a stray memory will creep up and whoosh, all the tears enter my space. Other times, I end up snorting on memory laughter. Grief is contrary, grief is a bitch.