A short story or essay that depicts the loss of my best friend and the impact friends have on one another.
MY LAST WRITING ASSIGNMENT
Getting the gals together was never an easy task. We were struggling writers of a different kind. We shared writing projects as often as we could but being working Moms, time together was rare.
Our meeting place was a local coffee shop that was attended by farmers, mostly of retirement age. Breakfast was one of its specialties and a good cup of coffee was always a plus. We liked the quaintness of it with various knickknacks displayed across the walls and the front counter. But, perhaps, we gathered here often because we were the youngest customers.
I arrived first. Heavy snow made traveling difficult that December morning. It had been snowing all night and the trees and buildings were heavy laden with the white flakes. I was lucky to have my four-wheel Jeep because I made it into town with little trouble. However, semis backed up on the main road through town indicated an accident on the nearby interstate.
With a gust of wind, I entered the cafe. I selected a remote table, half hidden by a wooden post, and made my way to claim it. A cheerful waitress was quick to take my order.
She said the obvious, “Nasty morning!”
“Yes, it is. Looks like it hasn’t stopped too
many of us, though” I said as I viewed the half-full shop of regulars.
“Thank goodness for that. What can I get you?”
“I’ll just take a cup of coffee for now. I’m expecting two more.”
“You bet.” She turned and went toward the back.
I unveiled my wintry headgear and gloves as I watched two elderly men sitting in an adjacent booth mulling over the weather conditions. The snow was falling in gray sheets by now but the crystalized trees framing the front window set the stage for a Norman Rockwell scene.
Five minutes passed, then ten. I glanced at my watch and feared that maybe I had gotten the wrong time or date for our meeting, as I have done before. I dialed Eileen’s number.
“Charley, just making sure that I was supposed to meet Leenie this morning”
“I believe so because she’s left already. She’ll be there shortly," her husband said in his slow, rhythmic drawl. I sighed with relief.
Within seconds, Eileen arrived. Stomping the snow off her boots, she entered the cafe. She spotted me and smiled. Teaching and our young families defined our lives back then. Our friendship began years ago when we taught at the same school and shared birthdays. There was a natural closeness between our families and us.
But other events also shaped and strengthened our friendship. When I lost my oldest son, she helped me immeasurably. She was a lifesaver that I continually relied upon. In turn, I was there for her during her numerous bouts with cancer.
“Had to be an accident on I-65,” I said.
“No doubt. It took me almost five minutes just to turn that last corner. Typical Midwest winter,” she groaned.
“Hey, you look great,” I said, and I meant it. In times, past, there was always that look of illness, of the exhaustion that comes with battling cancer. But today she looked rested and happy - her old self - and for me, that was such a blessing.
“Well, gee, thanks,” she said. “So what have you been up to? Do any writing?”
“Well, uh, no. Just haven’t had time! What about you?” I smiled.
“Are you kidding?” she chuckled. We ventured into stories about our families that usually initiated a lot of sarcastic jokes and comments. But, eventually, we came back to why we were there that cold winter morning.
“Hey, where’s Connie?”
“Not here yet.”
“I better call her,” Eileen flipped through her cell numbers and found it. “Connie, is that you? Can hardly hear you. Are you able to get here?”
Suddenly, Connie appeared in the doorway with cell phone in hand. “Yeah, I believe I can….” We all laughed as Connie approached the table.
Connie was our writing director. She would create the topics for our writing assignments and we would try, ever so hard, to meet her demands, all the while enjoying the moment of being together. Our camaraderie was timeless. Though our meetings weren’t as punctual as they had been in the past, time had no boundaries. The hectic schedules of our lives had not affected the harmony of our friendship.
That morning we sipped our coffee, ate our breakfast, and shared ideas for future writings. In fact, this personal essay was one of mine. But, as usual, we basically caught up. We caught up with what we were doing with our lives and what we wanted to do. Perhaps our discussions really didn’t change any of us directly but these get-togethers helped each one of us reflect on who we were. It was times like these that reinforced the need for people in our lives who gave us meaning. Friendship can be a powerful thing. Unlike family, friends can give us a perspective on ourselves that we cannot see because of the closeness of home.
We chattered about the snow and our promises to be more committed to our writing. We hugged and said our good-byes till the next time. And next time was to be squeezed in between typical family events and work.
However, that December meeting in the coffee shop would be the last Christmas I would spend with my best friend. Eileen lost her battle to cancer. Connie and I don’t meet any more. Yes, things had changed.
From time to time, I catch myself still chatting with my best friend wherever I am. I recognize how she has become so much a part of who I am today, and I am grateful. And so, I dedicate this, my last writing assignment, to her.
This piece is a beautiful loving tribute to Eileen.
I had to reread the sentence Ron refers to, but only because of the way your writing program didn't stretch the sentence to the end of the line--it's fine, meaning wise.
A very personal write that many of us as authors can identify with. It was poignant because it was the last time that all three of you were able to get together. Two things resonated with me.
I took I-65 to Wisconsin several times during my brief three years in Atlanta. One time a trucker relative of mine remarked, "You had to reserve a place in the ditch on 65 coming into Chicago. I never faced that icing problem, but I do recall turning north at Nashville only to find a single track and 8 inches of new snow all the way to Louisville, my destination that night. My car was weighted down and that helped me make the run with no difficulty.
You also reminded me that I have not attended my writers group, https://thefinaltwist.wordpress.com, for some time both because of my physical condition and lack of my lowered-floor van to take me there while it is being converted from my driving system. I miss those friendly folks although I would much have preferred more collaboration with individuals there rather than their writing assignments for their formula short story books.
There was only one line I couldn't figure out: “Yes, it is. Looks like it hasn’t stopped too many of though,”
A collection of love poetry both relatable and unique.. Poems both joyful, playfu , yearning and romantic. The Poet has exposed his heart and soul in words of love and admiration. Take a journey through the thoughts of a Contempary poet of love. Poet
