I’ve just been on a marathon — a talking marathon, that is — and I was up for the challenge.
All the same, it’s tough to catch up on 30 years of friendship in three days. And yet, if you were to ask our longtime friends from the Californian high desert, they’d surely say I gave it a run.
“Yeah! You’re up!” I squeaked in the early dawn, my croaky voice warming up to greet them. “I can’t wait to hear what you two have been doing since we moved from Barstow.”
Their bleary eyes met mine as they craved some caffeine.
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“I sort of like to ease into the morning,” Ted announced hoarsely with coffee mug in hand. “I’ll just go sit in the living room with Bill.”
This sleepy house guest knew where he could find a quiet place. In the kitchen, though, Erlinda and I were off to the races.
We talked while I made breakfast.
We talked while we put on our makeup.
We talked through TV shows and over the men’s conversations.
We talked through a tour of the countryside.
Erlinda would tell her story, and then I’d tell mine. Sometimes, we even told our tales at the same time. The guys swore neither of us was listening.
Day after day we reminisced, rehashed and recalled special moments.
On the final day of their visit, we even talked continuously as our car approached the airport for their trip home.
But when I started to say goodbye, that’s when my voice fell silent; the words lodging in my throat, tears welling in my eyes. Regretfully, I knew this marathon was over.