BACK TOGETHER

‘It’s my bucket!’ ‘It’s MY shovel!’ Mother leaned over the sand box, dug a little and found my shovel. I gave Wendy hers. Together we built a castle with a moat. We walked to the drinking fountain and filled the bucket with water for the moat. In a second the walls fell in and all we had was mud. That made us giggle. So nobody else could use our castle, we stamped it flat. Mother wiped our hands with Kleenex and gave me and my best friend, Wendy, each one chocolate cookie.

When I was six years old I got very sick and had to go to the hospital. Children under 12 weren’t allowed to visit. I cried and cried, begged Mommie to bring Wendy in to see me. Somehow, she never told me how, but she did get permission for my friend to come in one time. Wendy stood at the door, afraid to come in. I saw her right away and would have jumped out of bed to hug her, but there was a tube in my arm and I had to stay still.

Wendy had a white shopping bag with her. She put it on the floor where I could see her take out a big, big doll, wearing a pink dress. Her long blond hair made curls almost to her pink satin belt. It’s eyes could open and close and if I touched her belly, she could say, ‘Ma Ma.’ I named her Wendy and kept her next to me every day until nurses put me on a rolling table. Mother walked on one side of the table and Dad on the other. They held my hands and kissed me. The next thing I remember was touching pink Wendy. She was in bed beside me. I didn’t feel good. My head hurt but Wendy was with me and that was almost as good as real Wendy, but not quite.

Wendy came to see me the day after I came home and every day after that for weeks. Then it was spring. The sun was warm. Tulips circled our only tree and I could go outside. Wendy had two new books and could read every word to me. We made up some of our own stories about naughty dogs and cats that scratch. Mother brought us chocolate milk and graham crackers and helped us make a cord cradle.

I was ready to go back to school. Wendy waited at my front door and we walked the four blocks together. What happy children we were! Sisters couldn’t be closer.

Once, twice, maybe three times we got angry at each other, didn’t speak for a day, maybe 2, maybe 3. But we always made up–except once. ‘I do not love Buddy. He is not my boyfriend! ‘ I screamed at Wendy who had drawn a big chalk heart on my pavement. In it she wrote ‘G.F.’ and drew a wobbly arrow. Underneath that she wrote ‘B.R.’ The whole city, the whole world could see it . Everybody knew G.F. was Gloria Fine (that’s me) and B.R. was Buddy Rosen. How dumb, how mean that was. Buddy and I hardly knew each other. Wendy was angry because I was angry. We stopped talking. A few nights later we had an unexpected rain storm. The heart was gone in the morning. Our mothers called a pow wow, took us to the movies Saturday and all was right between us again.

Going back is sweet and sour, happy and sad. Saddest of all was when I really did have a boyfriend and Wendy was considering possibly trying for a musical career. We moved because Dad had a promotion, and not around the corner but cross country to California. I was wrenched from high school, my friends, and Wendy. Leaving Joey was nothing compared to that.

We wrote, we called, we reminisced. It was years until Wendy and her family came to CA, hoping for Wendy to find what she was looking for, a career. After their tour of the west coast, they managed to eke out one afternoon for us. Our few hours were like an electric storm. We knew it was on the way, it rumbled, made a lot of noise, lit up the sky and then it was over, over too fast. Wendy was gone.

Our letters went thru cyberspace, eventually losing zest. March 2007, in all capitals, an e mail message from Wendy listed her flights, dates to LA. She was coming for a whole week, with her husband. ‘Let’s do lunch!’ My Lennie and I met them at their hotel. Seeing Wendy again, I didn’t notice how fat she had gotten and when I did, it didn’t matter. She had been waiting in the lobby for us holding a big doll with long golden curls, dressed in pink. We almost fell on the floor as I ran to her and hugged her too hard. I saw her tears. She saw mine. I wiped hers with my fingers and she kissed mine away. The years melted. We were kids again. Our husbands left us alone. The afternoon had flown, taking a rocket ride to the moon. They were gone and most probably would never be back.

My big pink doll’s dress doesn’t go well with my bedroom decor but I don’t give a damn. She stands on my bureau and I say ‘good morning’ to her as soon as I open my eyes. I get out of bed and barely touch her arm and she talks to me, winks one eye and says,

‘Hello, My name is Wendy. I love you.’ Time has marched on!