As a police officer’s child, we’re raised to access every situation, which sadly includes people. Some call it bias or judgement, but it’s not. Unfortunately, it’s absolutely necessary in order to execute a cop’s job effectively. So, cop’s kids are wired differently than others because of what our parents chose to do for a living; their perception of the world is skewed, passing the same handicap on to us. Now, I honestly can say it isn’t just a curse but a true blessing. That “spidey cop sense” has saved me from multiple fucked-up situations and assisted me in choosing amazing friends over the course of my very active, youthful years.
“Hick” was a result of the quick judgement of such cop’s kid. Not of the STL city girl who saw some country hick with a bandana on her head, carrying furniture like an ox into our shared apartment. I saw someone completely different than I’d ever seen in, my in entire life, so I automatically became suspicious. A response from the result of how I was raised. But, again, grateful because of all of the shitty situations I’ve gotten out of or avoided because of that sense. The other roommate was a friend of hers from high school and she was something. She came with frumpy clothes, mismatched everything, and the country twang to match. See, I was away from the “Brady Brunch” family I was raised in, for the first time in my life and about to leave my boyfriend of 4 years, so “Hick” and her friend weren’t exactly the roommates I was looking for. Needless to say, thank goodness “Coffee” and I shared a bedroom. Honestly, I’m not sure if I would’ve stuck it out long enough to find out what an amazing connection I shared with that country bumpkin. Turns out, her and I didn’t have much in common but it didn’t affect the eerie connection the simple, country girl shared with the wild, city child. We connected after just a few weeks into that first semester and quickly became inseparable. Two peas in a pod. It was ridiculous; we were like high-school teenagers and both thoroughly enjoyed every minute of it. It began like most college friendships, drinking at a party of ours. Then we, and everyone in our quad, figured out we were a good time, so we continued to throw parties at our place. Late nights turned into early mornings and rides to classes. Lunch. Dinner. Secrets. Then, came the heartache. I broke up with my longtime boyfriend and “Hick” supported me, one of the few friends who did. I lost my grandma Bea, my very best friend, and she was there, even though she barely knew me. She helped “Coffee” pack my clothes and get me home for the funeral. She picked up the pieces after when I fell apart and didn’t go to class. She colored my hair red because it was Bea’s favorite color. She listened to me every day as I fell madly in love with my soulmate. “Hick” even moved with me 17 hours across the country, not because she wanted to, but simply because I asked her to take an adventure. That is beyond best friends, but anam cara, which the Celtics refer to as soul friends. This very opposite attraction has carried us through a marriage and two children for me; two marriages, premature twins and stepchildren for her, and everything life has thrown our way, in between, which has been a lot for me. “Hick” tends to handle everything on her own, unlike me, who crumbles under pressure, much like last year when she saved me once again. Although the friendship experienced gaps of time, like many things in life, that didn’t matter when I showed up in her driveway last year, in complete shambles. “Hick” welcomed me into her home, as well as her family, without question, and consoled me all weekend. I left the country that same weekend a changed person. She gave me the extra boost I needed to pick myself up and be happy, on my own right. Many people don’t know this about the friendship I share with “Hick,” but she knows me better than any single person, including myself, up until last year. Now, I can proudly say I know myself as much as she does; it only took 18 years. I look forward to another 18 years of the friendship with “Hick.” I can’t wait to joke about the differences in life between city and country living. I can’t wait to share more stories and adventures. More importantly, I just want to grow with her. Sit on the porch in our sixties or seventies and remember all of the shared moments. I’ll forever be grateful for the love and support she gives me, any time I’m in need. I hope I’m as good as a soul friend to mine as they have been to me because I’m not sure if I could ever repay mine for what they’ve done for my soul.
“Hick,” I hope you find comfort in this blog. Thank you for being my ride-or-die these past 18 years. But, more importantly, thanks for that first year. And thanks for this last year too. I’m not sure what my life would look like without you there for those two years.
Please like, comment, and share my blog. There will be one last blog post to finish this series.
Soulmates, College into Life