Is it natural to experience the best friendships of your lifetime when you are in junior high and high school?

I tell myself that it just can’t be so—that one of the best friendships I ever had, was when I was too young to appreciate the beauty and balance of the deep connection we had. But some times I wonder if I have already experienced the pinnacle of depth and sharing we had way back when…

Christopher (aka Topher or Toph) bounced into my life a lot like Tigger bounced into the lives of Winnie the Pooh and friends. Not the best alliteration, but the best I can do at the moment. Just days before the new school year began, he drifted into our quiet mundane “never-think-outside the box” Baptist Sunday school class like a Tigger to be sure. He came in, took a seat and without a moment’s hesitation, introduced himself with a “Hi! I’m Tope,” which was to spark years of debate on whether or not he said “Toph” or “Tope.” [It’s rather obvious where I stand on the issue, I think.] He was instantly a curiosity to us all!

It just seemed like he had no fear. He certainly wasn’t afraid of us. I mean what other anonymous 14 year old walks into a junior high/senior high Sunday school class of 15 others and promptly introduces himself with all the confidence of a prince meeting his royal subjects! And with this one, his confidence didn’t end there. I seem to remember him answering a question or two or making a comment even on that first day he arrived. There was no apparent awkwardness on his part at all.

Unlike most other boys my age at church, things with Topher were drastically different from the start. I hadn’t grown up with this one. We hadn’t met in the church nursery as toddlers or fought over perfect attendance in Sunday school. We hadn’t been forced to attend each other’s silly birthday parties or argued over who memorized the most verses for vacation Bible school ribbons. We were perfect strangers and yet I was soon to learn that we were more like kindred spirits.

He was friendly from the start. It was hard not to like him, and believe me, I tried. He wasn’t the prince charming I had already filled my 13-year old head with. He was certainly no ideal of mine, and since I was already on a passionate quest for my future mate, I didn’t need to waste my time with less than potential. He was a distraction I just couldn’t allow.

He was a thin, lanky boy with glasses and a big goofy grin and was recognized almost at once as a bit of a nerd. He was smart, really smart, and though I tried, I couldn’t ignore that. He knew too much, and it was all I could do to feign disinterest and listen in silence. But my quest for knowledge was too intense, and I couldn’t fight him off for long. He knew more than I did on just about everything—stuff like stars and space ships, books, religion, history and science--just to name a few. He had a factoid or some data to provide on just about every subject that someone would bring up, and to me, he was quite fascinating from the beginning, and I couldn’t hide my admiration for long.

To complicate matters, his arrival coincided rather nicely with my juncture into the world of middle school. I was entering 7th grade and he was merging into 8th. Much to my detriment, it was soon noted that we would be going to the same private school, and since we lived a mere 2 blocks away from each other, we would also be carpooling to catch the same van for our 30-minute ride to school. And to further aggravate my melancholy, since our private school was quite small, we would also be in the same classroom due to the fact that the 7th and 8th graders met for part of their studies together. There was no escaping fate. We couldn’t be strangers. We were going to be thrown together a lot. It was going to be agony or was it…

When you’re 13, everything seems so drastic, and my world was changing all too quickly. This horrid rival of mine arrived much to my dismay and won everyone over to his side. He was so at ease and made friends rather quickly. Everybody knew Topher! No one was above or below his notice. And while I tried to put off his friendship for the first couple of weeks, I just couldn’t escape it altogether, and I soon caved. It turned out that his friendship was just what I needed.

And nerd or not, Toph was the best. He might have been a brainiac, but he also had a great sense of humor. He could toss around sarcasm and wit like no one else, and yet he was also perceptive to know when there was a need for sensitivity especially around girls. And believe me, I was quite the moody girl to contend with. I was at that awkward stage—thinking I was ready to be an adult, but launching into hysteria over another girl looking at me funny or talking to a boy I liked. But Topher was the ever patient friend, gently coaxing me out of my melancholy fits or making me laugh at something silly just to get my mind off something truly petty. It was hard to stay mad at him. He was so apologetic and always the first to own up to a misunderstanding although 9 out of 10 times, it was my doing to begin with.

Toph was a great communicator. We would spend hours discussing any number of subjects—like what we were going to be when we grew up [he was to be a doctor, and I was to be a cop!] and where we were going to college; what Shakespearean play was better or which Bible character we most wanted to meet; which politician was correct or what tax plan was best. I would sit mesmerized by his range of ideas, thoughts and opinions. He was so full of vitality, and I was often struck by how remarkable his mind worked. He would daily stretch my mind—making me think outside the box and see something else beyond my own bubble.

And while I had ideas, thoughts and opinions of my own, I wasn’t as sure of myself or as keen to share. I wasn’t as willing to think things through for myself or as willing to dig as deeply or wade into the pool of knowledge as often as he did, but he could always get me to open up. And he’d always listen to my thoughts even though they were often trivial to his own. To be honest, I was more immersed in the silly and trite world around me. More obsessed with what to wear and who was into whom than discussing philosophy, science or the arts. But he was the ever patient tutor…always willing to listen to the mundane silliness I was fascinated with and guide me along as best he could when the time arrived.

He was my trusted confidante. He endured hearing all about my girl school crushes and even ventured a time or two in trying to help me overcome my shyness with the opposite sex. He listened tirelessly to my daily escapades of junior high and senior high drama. He didn’t care who was dating whom or what so and so said about someone. Those things didn’t matter to him, but he’d listen anyway.

He introduced me to different music. He loved classical pieces and loved to be there when I heard something for the first time. Listen to the melody, Mel! Isn’t that whimsical? He’d sing Phantom of the Opera lyrics on the phone just to make me cheer me up. He got me hooked on the Phantom, and to this day, I can’t listen to it without thinking fondly of him.

During the school year, we’d talk at school, and when he switched schools, we’d talk endlessly on the phone or meet up somewhere on our bikes for a ride and a chat. We’d see each other a couple of times a week at least at church and youth group functions. We’d gab, sing choruses loudly or act silly just for the heck of it! He always knew what to do to make me laugh.

Our summers were spent at church camp and exploring our small town via our bicycles. We’d take long rambling bike excursions around our town, sometimes leaving our parents a bit concerned by our late arrivals home. We’d go to the lake and just walk the pier or visit the Dairy Queen before heading home. We’d take a side trip to the berry farm or explore a road we’d never ridden down before.

We had our fair share of scrapes along the way. We once had a friend that ran away from home and secretly kept in touch with us while he was away. Of course, he was a runaway, and we got in trouble for keeping silent about what we knew. There was also the time that he had me hold some wires together for him on some experiment he was conducting and next thing I knew, we were listening in on a wireless phone conversation. [I wonder if the FCC is still looking for us?] Not to the mention the time that we almost started a fire in his dining room…

We had our opinions about how things should be and what should change at our church, too. I was more of a quick-tempered girl, and he was the patient and dutiful son, willing to grin and bear it rather than strive against his elders for change. More than once, he’d calm me down before I did or said something I would regret later. We’d have deep theological conversations quite often, where he would challenge me and get me to rethink my beliefs and determine what I was basing my faith in.

Topher also had his share of secrets and pain. There were some things I knew about then and things I learned about later that still sadden me. Some things I chose to ignore, some things I wanted to fight but he wouldn’t let me and still others that I didn’t understand. I knew even then that there was a sadness to him…a depth that even I couldn’t get to. I tried to understand, but I always knew there was more to it. But to me, he was the best friend I had ever had, and I was so happy to have his friendship.

And then one day, we grew up and somehow, it got away…We kept in touch via sporadic phone calls, letters and occasional holiday visits, but soon even those were just memories. And now it's been years since we've talked and yet somehow, lately, he keeps coming to mind again, and I’m missing him more than ever. Love ya, Toph!

Single Conversation...

Over lunch today, my singlehood became the topic of conversation, and I sat a bit rattled by the barrage of questions that 2 of my co-workers threw at me...

What are you looking for in a mate?
Do you like older men? How old is too old?
Do you like blondes?
Is tall, dark and handsome really your ideal?
Would you be interested in a man who has been married before? What about a man with kids?

Actually it was a rather interesting conversation to listen to, and believe me I was doing more listening than talking. I would no sooner start to answer a question when they would throw another one at me or start answering the other question for me. I listened with interest and a great deal of laugher as they discussed what I "wanted" without much input from me. People are funny that way!

I think my answers would have been quite a bit different...

What are you looking for in a mate?
A male. A single male interested in women! I just don't see it working any other way...

Do you like older men? How old is too old?
I actually do prefer older men. I always have and especially now. Older men are settled and more complete in themselves. I'm not after a sugar daddy here, and so I guess 10-12 years older would be my limit. OK, maybe 20 at the most!

Do you like blondes?
I'm not against blondes, after all it is my current shade. But I confess more of an attraction to dark hair.

Is tall, dark and handsome really your ideal?
And who's idea isn't? While I think it is important to be attracted to your mate, it's not the only thing that can draw you to another person. Height is something I lack, and so I've always wanted to meet and marry a taller man. [He doesn't have to be all that tall to be taller than I am.] Integrity is a big quality I am in search of. Intelligence has always been a draw in the past, too. If you can keep my mind engaged, it's a huge positive!!

Would you be interested in a man who has been married before? What about a man with kids?
These are always hard questions. I think most of would admit that we would want to be the only spouse of another. Few people really plan on divorce, and while it is more common for divorced people to remarry, it is still a hard decision to come by. And when children are involved, it is even stickier. I wouldn't want an ex to deal with and it would be difficult having to work out custody issues as well. I'd prefer less headaches.

It strikes me as curious that since taking on my new job within a completely different environment, my singleness has come up as the topic of conversation more and more, and believe me, I'm not the one bringing it up. I'm not saying that I don't ever wear my singleness as a badge of honor or as a chip on my shoulder depending on the situation...because I must confess to having done both on different occasions. But at work, I've been pretty much silent about it until someone else brought it up, and now, it's the buzz in the office. In the past, I haven't experienced this much curiosity into my marital status on the job.

And I think it has to do with that all too familiar saying about the "grass being greener on the other side..." Just as I like to hear about marriage and hear about what brings people together, they (my married coworkers) like to hear about my single life and the opportunities I have. One coworker told me today that she likes to live vicariously through my encounters. Not sure how to take that, but I think she meant it in a good way!

As humans, I guess it's proof that we are never completely satisfied. We get one thing that we think will fill us, but it never does. So we reach after another and another -- always with the same result. Nothing completes us that way! Could it be that we're trying to put a series of bandaids on the gaping hole deep within us? Or could it be that there never was a hole to begin with?

It's just the mystery that keeps it going...

If "Mr. Just Glancing Over" would actually speak to me or introduce himself, the spell would be broken. I'd be free of the enchantment. Not because he's a goon or a psycho or because I think the words uttered would confirm some ill thought...It's just that once we made "contact" if you will, the questions would fade, and there wouldn't be the lingering and nagging wonderment that plagues me now.

Yes, I confess. I think it's that mystery that keeps this "thing" going.

I love Jane Eyre. The first time I read Charlotte Bronte's classic Jane Eyre, I was smitten with Mr. Edward Rochester. He was dark, brooding, rude and forthright. He wasn't all that attractive to look at--even to Jane herself--but she was captivated by him nonetheless. His tortured soul was a delicious element, and the mystique surrounding him kept readers mesmerized until the last page.

I am of the opinion that Jane Eyre has ruined real relationships for some of us women. That may sound harsh especially since I'm not even sure it has affected any one else but me. [So please remember this is merely my theory here and not a dissertation with supporting evidence other than my own...] In my own experience, that book put ideas into my head, and I continue to live by those principles. And somehow, I think it has not been the most positive enlightenment.

I've been on a mission to find my own personal Mr. Rochester...you know a man who continues to surprise me like Rochester surprised Jane. There were deep-rooted secrets behind those heavy-lidded eyes of his, a lurking darkness that he was struggling against, a passionate devotion to all things Jane and a powerful persona to boot. He was a MAN!

Of course, the truth was that Mr. Rochester--like every other man, woman and child ever born into this world--was flawed. (GASP!) Yes, FLAWED. Although no more so than any other person, I suppose.

His irrational temper, brooding temperament and violent mood swings were legendary. He was arrogant and proud to be sure. He teased and tormented Jane with what we would term as "games" today, and he was less forthright than he should have been about his past. Of course there was the other matter. [Please skip to the next paragraph if you haven't read the book yet...] I'm guessing that most of us have not locked up our mad spouse in the attic for years, (but in his defense, it was more humane that the asylums would have been I imagine).

He was basically a rake, a scoundrel, a deviant. But to me, he was simply perfect!

A refreshing change from the fairy tale heroes I read about. OK, so he didn't slay dragons or wake the princess with a kiss, but then Mr. Rochester had personality. He wasn't a cardboard figure. I mean does anyone really think that Prince Charming was a level-headed guy you could carry on a deep conversation with? With a name like Prince Charming, he had to have been an ego maniac! What were his parents thinking anyway? [Sorry...a bit of a tangent here...]

No, Mr. Rochester was a real hero. A scarred man with a past that he could not escape and a desire for something fresh and new. It was that uniqueness, the imperfections in his character that made him interesting and made him believable. He was ideally imperfect!

And I've been looking for him ever since. But alas, they've been too wild for me or too far outside the conventional norms. They've been too gentle and kind or too timid and bland to suit. They've been too creative or too practical. They've been too good looking or too non-descript. And thus the search continues on...

The reality is that each one of us is a holder of some mystery--maybe not like Mr. Rochester (but then again, how much mystery should one person have? I mean even Jane must have tired of the intrigue). And as humans, each one of us has unique aspects of our personality that surprise some and captivate others, that offend a few and delight another. In a way, we are all mysterious creatures with lots to offer each other. We're just waiting to be discovered and admired for who we are--flaws and all!

In retrospect, Mr. Rochester tainted my scope of what I thought I wanted. Bronte's vivid portrait of a tortured and passionate man called out to the melancholy woman inside me and made me yearn for a dramatic love of my own. I started pursuing something that didn't exist, something I'd never actually find, but I can't blame it all on Mr. Rochester or Jane Eyre. The true mystery lies in the fact that I don't know what I want myself.

And as for "Mr. Just Glancing Over," who knows? He could be just another passing curiousity as many have been before him or he could be something more. We'll just have to wait out the dramatic intrigue and see...

A shy glance or two. A smile. Not something to be taken for granted.

He sits there across the room in his spot. I sit tables away in mine. I catch him looking. He catches me looking. I catch him again, and this time he doesn't look away. We hold that glance for what seems like an eternity, and then I look away.

This our routine. Our daily ritual, if you will. And I find myself looking forward to this daily encounter with anticipation. Pathetic or not--it makes me smile! Maybe it shouldn't matter, but it is nice to be noticed. Nice to feel even for a fraction of a second that someone else is aware that you are there--even if he won't talk to you, won't approach you, and doesn't know your name. You still have that half a moment of recognition...

THEY say that our world is getting smaller, and I think that's because of the global scope. People are traveling more around the world, I suppose. And what happens here supposedly affects the rest of the globe...at least that's what THEY tell us!

But to a single person I think "the world getting smaller" has an entirely different connotation. In a world of pairs--of he and shes, he and hes, she and shes and so on--it does seem smaller. Smaller in the fact that everyone around you seems to be hooking up. It's as if you are a dying breed or something and you are watching the last of your kind slip away. And let's confess here, that does mean fewer possibilities. Your world is shrinking in on you.

So those rare weak-in-the-knees moments--those curious glances and random smiles--don't come along as often any more. You wish you weren't so desperate or so eager for them. You wish they didn't touch you as deeply as they do or make you think about them afterwards. After all, it's just a glance.

But I think it's just as silly to deny the fact that you do want them! To pretend like you aren't touched or aren't affected. After all you aren't so different from everyone else. You just want to love and be loved!

I'm not pessimistic...just not as idealistic any more!

I read my first blog and thought...how very pessimistic and cynical of you, Mel! What a dramatic start to your blog! But then I snapped back to reality! The human experience is not all roses just like it's not all dandelions or pussywillows. It's a mixed bouquet of thorns and firs, onions and honeysuckle, skunk cabbages and tulips. And to be honest, I wouldn't want it any other way.

I mean there wouldn't be any cause for emotion or feeling at all if everything were always the same day in and day out, but thankfully no moment is just as the last one. And despite being raised to seek consistency, to be even keeled and to tone down my melancholy--I think that's more than a bit unrealistic. Life isn't really like that. Life isn't calm or mundane or predictable all the time! It's full of surprises--both the good and the bad. There are peaks and valleys to travel, and without those low moments of despair or tragedy, we wouldn't enjoy those memorable delights that still make us smile--whether it's holding your newborn nephew for the first time or savoring the last bite of chocolate.

Life is a marvel!

I'm grateful but...

I'm aching for something else.

I want to cry. I want to laugh. I want to feel. I want to be doing--something, anything. But I seem to be simply existing, nothing more. Nothing excites me, nothing shakes me, nothing moves me. I try to cry but there's no sense of relief. I laugh but it just seems to be a hollow echo inside an empty shell. Nothing reaches my core anymore.

I'm blessed, and I know it. I've got a caring family that respects my privacy and gives me quite a bit of personal space. I've got a loving family of friends that regularly seek me out and keep in touch. I'm not tied down. The opportunities are endless really and yet amidst the deafening roar of possibilities, I'm numb...completely still. I've lost something, and I can't remember what it is...and so I go in search--in search of hope.

I tell myself that we're just not made to be complete in ourselves, but then some days it's when I'm surrounded by people that I'm more lonely than ever. I'm staying involved, I'm not reclusing, I'm doing the work--honest, but for some reason, I'm more aware of my true state when I'm with friends. Funny how that works! Alone on my island, I'm at peace. Amidst the happy mob, I'm ready to bolt.

I found myself in such a position at a recent wedding reception. I was surrounded by loving friendly faces and by people with a genuine interest in me. When I should have felt my most confident, I wanted to run away. I caught myself accepting others' joys as my own, embracing another's dream and reveling in their happiness rather than holding dearly onto mine. It was as if I didn't have any dreams, didn't have any aspirations or treasured confidences of my own. The opposite is true.

And yet I feel that my hope has been dimming with each passing year...What once was a bastion of hope and dreams--a lighthouse amidst the sea of doubt--has been reduced to a flickering candle. A candle that has it bright moments from time to time but is tending to wane more and more daily. Each day a bit duller than the day before.

But there is life in me yet. I'm not content to just exist. I know I have joy in me. It's buried deep but it's there, and for now HE keeps me going. Each day with its own merits! Hope is still there. It's just not part of a fairy tale any more...