They could have called Super Shuttle this morning. When the alarm sounded at 4:30am, after a night of restless sleep, I really wished they had called Super Shuttle. Out into the brisk air I went, my teeth unbrushed and my hair in a tangle. I drove the dark one mile to their house. It was earlier than I usually got out the door, but in the dark it seemed like any other morning. The one mile stretch is the same road I travel every morning when I meet her for our early run.

Tonight, they are miles and miles away, but I am sitting on their couch, writing on their computer, watching their TV, using their washing machine, and eating their Rocky Road ice cream. I didn’t ask. I’m sure they won’t mind at all–although raiding the ice cream might be pushing it a little bit. In their house I know exactly where the blankets are kept, and exactly where she hides the paper plates, which I happily used to avoid washing dishes. Their home is the one I imagined myself coming to when we moved here several years ago; the house I thought might become a second home on nights when Jonathan was studying late or I just felt lonely. It has indeed become that place.

I could have gone to a laundromat tonight , but didn’t. And they could have called Super Shuttle, and didn’t. It’s why we’re friends.

photo credit to : Robert Crum