Karen and I were never
friends.
We grew up in the same
hometown. Our parents socialized. We both even went to Tufts; Karen graduated a
year after I did.
She had the kind
of beauty that was even intimidating to prepubescent girls.
I thought of her as icy, in a Grace Kelly kind of way. A cool blond with blue eyes. She must be snobby. This I assumed without knowing her.
Four years ago I went to a
reunion in my hometown for the YMHA which was a big part of my life growing
up. Karen was there, looking beautiful still. We started talking, and I thought, maybe my
high-school assessment of her had been wrong.
Soon after, we start playing Words With Friends. Our great word! or nice play! comments slowly evolve into full sentences, and then
short paragraphs.
The other day while playing,
Karen writes that she’ll be in New York this week and let’s try and get
together; she lives in Boston.
The truth? I get nervous. What if we have nothing to talk about beyond
our short little text updates? What if
it’s awkward? But again I was wrong.
When Karen calls this
morning, we start talking as if we’d spoken yesterday. After 15 minutes, it seems silly to keep
speaking on the phone when we can do the same in person.
So we meet at Pinkberry’s.
School
lets out and a group of rambunctious middle schoolers come in, making it too
loud to talk. We walk a bit and talk more. About kids, and parents,
and backgrounds, and jobs, and colleges, and exes, and bosses, and futures and
pasts. Too soon Karen has to leave and I need to go to the office.
It's
remarkable where a casual game of Words with Friends can lead.
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