Dress You Up in My Love

I run a few days a week with a friend at work. My friend and I are vastly different in looks and in interests; however, something about the Sikh girl from Chandigarh and the Great Cat Goddess Girl from Poznan clicks two days a week for a run.

For a long time, our preferred running time was at noon. I got ready, and then waited for her to put her hair up. After a few months, she decided that it would be better if we ran a bit later instead; this would give her time to put her hair up. I insisted that I didn’t mind waiting; however, she insisted that she minded that I had to wait.

In an IM conversation one day, I asked, “What time do you want to run then?” She responded “12:08.” I laughed out loud, thinking it was such an arbitrary time; she was not one I’d called “goofy,” like I’d call myself, so I was clearly impressed by the goofiness of her appointed time.

I agreed we could run then. I was then instructed that she would leave first for the locker room, because she needed exactly three minutes to put up her hair. I would then follow her.

Knowing she was engineer, I then realized that 12:08 was not a goofy time; it was a carefully thought out and designed running time. She arrived at noon; she had her hair up at 12:03. I arrived at 12:03, and I had five minutes to get ready; thus, at 12:08, we were off and running!

Sometimes, when I entered the locker room a bit early, I was chastised for arriving before she put her hair up. It was then repeated that she did not like me waiting for her; and a few times, I might have responded like Iz by saying, "Okay, okay, okay!" It was rather quirky of her, but I loved that about her.

Of course, eventually, our runs became about a lot more than just running. When the weather was nice, we’d sit outside the building after our run, drink water, and chat. We’d talk about what was going on in our lives; I probably shared more than she did.

I knew this one day when she asked me, “Do you have a lot of friends who you can tell anything to?” She asked the question like she was asking me if there really was an Easter Bunny. When I said, “Yes,” she seemed genuinely amazed.

I named a few friends. She reaffirmed, “And you feel like you could tell them anything?” I said, “Yes. I feel like I could tell you most anything, too.”

A few weeks later, she asked me for some advice; unfortunately, it was about men. I’ve not fared too well in that department; however, I felt quite honored that she asked me. Up until that point, I don’t think she had a friend who she felt she could tell many things to.

Last Fall, she had mentioned that it was time for her to visit India. She asked me if I wanted to come along, and I decided I wanted to. Unfortunately, I decided with my heart and not my brain. A few weeks later, I told her that my efforts and finances were best spent at home for the next few months; she penciled me in for the next trip.

A few weeks ago, she told me that she was set to go on her trip. She had been planning it all along; however, in some ways, I think she didn’t share the details, because like a good friend, she didn’t want me to feel badly for not going or that I was somehow missing out. She understood where I was, because she knew all of my “everything.”

She told me she’d be gone for a month. I exclaimed, “A month!” She laughed, and I again said to myself, “Jeez, a month!”

Okay, I do know that it’s impossible to go to India for a weekend. Heck, it’s pretty impossible to go to Pittsburgh for the weekend, and that’s even in my time zone. I guess I just hadn’t thought how long a month would be in terms of our friendship; I knew she would be safe with her family, but I was going to miss her, the only female friend I had at work in a sea of male co-workers.

I told her that she was going to have a wonderful trip. Sensing my sadness at not being able to go along, she immediately said, “You will go next year.” I said, “Yes. I think things will be much better next year.”

When Iz and I were at the mall two weekends ago, I was thinking about my friend’s journey to India and was somewhat feeling badly that I had a long journey to make at home before I’d ever make the long journey to India. If I couldn’t go to India, part of me would go there. I dragged Iz over to my favorite jewelry kiosk, and I said, “We need to pick out some earrings; they have to be small, and they can’t be dangles!”

Perplexed but motivated by a fashion challenge, Iz spun the earring racks around. I like pink; however, my friend was not a pink person. I’d show up wearing something and she’d say, “Oh, what a surprise. It’s pink!” We’d then laugh, because we constantly teased each about our color choices.

She didn’t get pink. I didn’t understand why with her beautiful coloring she chose only to wear brown and black. In a nutshell, we had a friendly color rivalry.

As Iz spun an earring rack around, I said, “Oh, and the earrings must be pink!” Iz looked at me and asked, “Why pink?” I said, “Because she doesn’t like pink.”

Iz looked puzzled but returned to her task. In about three minutes, she spun a rack around and stopped it. She said, “Mommy, I like these, these, and these,” pointing to three different pairs of earrings. I examined the earrings, and I said to the salesperson, “I’ll take these.”

I knew instantly that I liked them. They were the non-dangle version of the earrings my friend, Brenda, had given me. They were pink, reminiscent of opals, and the tiny embedded specks of green in the pink stone sparkled brightly in the light.

Yesterday, I told my friend, who is leaving on Thursday, that she must stop by my office. I told her I had a bon voyage present for her. Of course, she told me it wasn’t necessary, but I told her to come by just in case we were unable to run today.

In five minutes, she was at my cube. I handed her the silver box tied with the silver bow and a small card. She again said, “You didn’t have to do this,” and I answered, “I know, but I wanted to.”

She opened the envelope to reveal a pink card covered with white sparkle dots. She started to laugh, mumbled, “Pink!”, and then asked me if I had made the card. I told her I was talented but not that talented.

She lifted open the card, and she read. I told her to have a safe trip, and that I’d miss her. She looked up from the card, and she said, "I’ll miss you, too.”

She took the ribbon off the box, opened it, lifted up the tissue paper, and then she laughed. I said, “You have to wear them!” She then laughed even harder and thanked me.

Today was our last run before her trip. Finding it a bit hard to concentrate for some reason, I headed up to the locker room a bit early. I was brushing my teeth when a voice saying, “Jean!” startled me so that I almost swallowed my toothpaste.

I peered around the bathroom door, which was halfway closed, and my friend said, “You’re early!” (Did I already tell you that she hates it when I’m early?) I said, with my toothbrush still in my mouth, “I saw-ree bub I wuz notb bizee, saw I comb earlbe.” She smiled and continued her fake irritation by imitating me with my toothbrush in my mouth.

If my mouth had not been full of tooth paste, I would have laughed out loud. You think you know a person. That was the first time I ever saw her act, well, exactly like me – goofy!

After much more feigned irritation, she said, “I forgot my gym bag in the car.” She fretted because now I would have to wait longer for her. I said, “Don’t worry about it.”

She left and came back with her bag. She said to me, “Now you have time to stretch. Go out in the gym and stretch.” I said, “I’m sitting here stretching my brain,” and she laughed.

She fretted again about being late. I said, “I’m just relaxing here.” Funny, but she then said, “Tell me something exciting,” and I said, “Sorry, but I can’t. I’m meditating now.”

As I sat there in the locker room meditating (okay, I wasn’t really) and watching her put up her long jet black hair, I could not remember how I first met her. I know it was because of work and involved running, but for the life of me, I didn’t remember the first time I met her. I suppose it didn’t really matter; all that really did matter was everything that came after whether it be pink, brown, or black.

After our run, I was getting dressed and said, “Now, you’ve got to wear your pink earrings on your trip.” She said, “Oh, yes, I have the perfect pink sweater to wear them with.” I got all excited and asked, “Really? You do have a pink sweater.” She laughed as if she was Iz playing some sort of joke on me and said, “No!!!!!”

I laughed and said, “Awww, I hate it when you get me all excited about you and pink like that!” Hoping to give the runner left behind from the long voyage some hope, she said, “I do have a pink outfit that I wear to church.” I said, “Okay, maybe you can try to wear them with that, and send me a picture!”

At that point, it didn’t seem like it mattered whether she wore them or not. My pink earrings were going to India with a dear friend. I smiled and thought, “To Chandigarh With Love.” ♥

Blog Picture Note: I love this picture, and I had it pinned up on my office wall before I was laid off. Ironically, my friend, George, gave me a cycling shirt this past Christmas with this picture on it. I like it when people tell you they love you; however, I think it’s even greater when they are able to dress you up in their love.