Thank you for being a friend.
By: Michele Giarrusso
Tags: Personal Essay, Humorous Life Lessons, Christian Living, Humor, Christian

Thank you for being a friend. Traveled down a road and back again. You’re heart is true, you’re a pal and a confidante. (Andrew Gold)

I walked into a local Baptist church as a visitor to find the oldest congregation I had ever seen. There was more gray hair and walkers than a nursing home. In fact, it took me so much by surprise that I went outside to look at the name on the building to make sure I was even in the right place.

Satisfied, I took my seat in an otherwise empty pew located about mid-way between the door and the altar. I wasn’t sure sure if I was in Tennessee or Virginia. If I was in Virginia I wanted to be close to the door to make a break for it before anyone decided to tax me for just living. I know how commonwealths are about taxes. Fortunately, I came to find out that I was still safe in the Volunteer state when the pastor came in decked out in an orange and white suit.

I sat back in my pew and got my Bible and study materials out, readying myself for what looked like to be a very engaging message about college football. The lady behind me must have noticed I was a visitor, and tapped me on my shoulder.

“You look like a foreigner to me. You look like one of them I-talians. Are you one of them I-talians? You know, like a yankee.”

“Well, yes I am. Very much so.” I hoped my quizzical look did not offend, and apparently it didn’t.

The old lady smoothed her skirt as she spoke. “Oh, I love Lo Mein. And, twice baked taters. We have several I-talian restaurants in town. You must be a good cook.”

“All I-talians are. Especially Lo Mein and twice baked potatoes.” I couldn’t help it.

Nodding her head in solidarity, she pressed me for more information. “Where are you from exactly because I know you’re not from around these parts? You talk funny.”

“Maryland.”

She gave me a disapproving gaze. “I knew it. A yankee. From up north. I could tell.” She stared at me as though there was a silent challenge I needed to address or apologize for.

“Maryland, but from below the Mason Dixon line.”

“I don’t think so. The equator doesn’t go through any northern states.” She said flipping casually through her Bible. “How’d you end up here anyway? A boy? Surely, you didn’t marry one of our boys? Anyway, I know all about boys. At my age I should.”

Intrigued, I bit the bait. “How old are you?” The circling buzzards around her head indicated an advanced age.

She fired back a surprising response. “My age?! Lordy, I went to the prom with Jesus.”

I giggled. But, she was serious.

She stared me down with gentle, cloudy blue eyes that had a certain fading spark.

“I guess ya’ll meet in high school?”

She didn’t miss a beat.

“9th grade at P.S. #1 in Nazareth. You know, we hung out before He become a hippie. Thank God, or my parents would have never let me go with Him. Anyway, The prom was a blast. He turned the punch into wine. And, we danced the night away. Jesus was so different. Nobody could put a finger on it.”

“What happened after prom?” (Come on! You know you’d ask that too.)

Softly she said with a touch of regret: “I was hoping J’sus — that was His street name — would want to go steady, but He said that He and 12 of his buddies were going to go see the world first after high school. I never heard from Him again. All I have is this notecard He gave me with ten little sayings on it.”

“That must have hurt a bit. Its nice He gave you a note though. Did you ever get married?” I had to know.

“Oh yeah. I met a guy at the University of Rome. I went on a cheerleading scholarship. I used to be able to kick it high!” She lifted one of her bluish-colored legs up in the air for emphasis.

“Anyway, his name was Paul. He was a missionary. It didn’t last, though. He wasn’t home very much. I still get his disability checks in the mail. That’s how I can afford a Tesla.”

She then got quiet. I could tell her heart was wandering back to another time and place. She leaned up on the back of my pew and rested her head on her arms. “I’ll tell you one age old truth. When it comes to men, it’s never good if they have a wandering spirit.”

“I know what you mean.” Or, at least I thought I did.

“You ever get married, honey? You’re pretty even though you’re dark skinned and have a big nose.”

“Thanks. You sure know how to make a stranger feel good.” I dabbed my eyes with a tissue.

“Its a gift we southerners have, honey. Now what about your love life?”

I asked God for forgiveness, and told her my story.

“My fiancé, he was real rebellious despite being a government worker type. He brought me over here to Tennessee by boat. His name was Christoforo Colombo. We calle him “Chris Cross” for short. What a guy. A little older than me, but he seemed so together. He loved boating, too, even though he didn’t actually have a boat of his own. You ever heard of him? He posts on Facebook a lot.”

“You know, I have heard of him. Didn’t he discover Mexico in the 80’s?” She continued. “He mustn’t have been much of a sailor if ya’ll ended up in Tennessee. We’re land-locked.” She looked at me matter-of-factly. “Did he break your heart?”

“Kinda. It didn’t work out. He went boating by himself one day, and got lost at sea somewhere around Chattanooga. I never heard from him again.”

“I’m sorry, darling. It happens. He had a wandering spirit. I get it. It never works out when they have a wandering spirit. Even more so if they can’t read a map. My Paul was like that. He was always on a road trip somewhere and getting in trouble. He just refused to wear his eyeglasses. Sometimes you just have to let them go.”

There was silence as we both considered our heartbreak and loss because of a boy.

“Well, honey, you’re young. You’ll find someone else who knows where he’s going and how to get there. Well, I can’t talk anymore. Service is starting, and this is the only way I can keep up with what my high school sweetheart’s been doing since graduation.”

She sat back in her pew satisfied that she had made a real connection with me, the sojourner from up north by way of Maryland, by way of Italy.

Leaning up one last time, she pushed y long hair away from my ear and whispered, “As soon as you walked in, I just knew you and I were going to be friends.”

“Best friends.” I said over my shoulder. “For life.”