Quiet Mountain Essays
Copyright © 2009
Friends for a Season, a Reason, and a Lifetime
by
LisaMarie Berger
Okay, I have forty-five minutes before my older daughter’s school bus returns. My youngest has
half-day afternoon kindergarten. In the cherished and fleeting two and a half hours while both girls
are not home, I need to choose between doing laundry, going grocery shopping, doing the
bookkeeping for our family business, or writing my first novel. I have decided, at the age of forty, to
become a writer. I have been taking writing classes, and six months ago I had a piece published.
Since then, I have been thinking of things to write about.
While doing my thinking, I get emails from my friend Ricki. She works full-time in an office. She
writes to ask me what I will be doing that day. She begs me to lie. She wants to feel envious of my
day. She wants me to tell her I am going to get a manicure and then to Starbucks for a cup of coffee.
Then, of course, it’s on to Barnes & Nobel to peruse the newest arrivals.
When I tell her what I am actually doing, she sighs with disappointment and, again, begs me to lie.
She tells me she wants to live vicariously through me, and she prefers the manicure, etc. fantasy.
Ricki is a good friend. When we met two years ago at our daughters’ preschool, I felt instantly
comfortable with her, like I had known her all of my life. We became fast friends; I am able to talk
with her about anything and everything. Nothing is off limits, and for that, nothing could be more
treasured, more valued, or more perfect. Although I have only known her for a short time, a Season,
her loyalty and friendship mean the world to me.
So, I am thinking I should keep writing. I will write about friendship.
Maggie is my Reason friend. When we met, I was thirty-one and newly pregnant. She was twenty-
five and had already been a mother for eight years. I was so out of my element, it was beyond
humorous. I didn’t know the difference between an Elmo and a Braxton-Hicks. I was in awe of
Maggie’s confidence. At a very young age, she knew what she wanted. As a teenager, she found
herself staring at baby shoes in stores at the mall; she married her high school sweetheart and they
now have four beautiful children.
When my first daughter arrived, Maggie was there for me. Her soft-spoken and gentle nature guided
me through those first precious years of motherhood. With her help I made my way through diaper
changes, breastfeeding, and play dates. A whole new world opened up for me. I was so very
exceptionally fortunate to have a friend like Maggie.
My Lifetime friend...
“You’re a meatball!” Mary Ellen was standing at the curb, yelling at her older brother Anthony.
Seems he forgot to bring her across the street with him; he wanted to play with the big kids. I was
looking out the window of our new kitchen. I was three and she was four. My family had just moved
into the house next to hers. Having given up on Anthony, she decided to take a stroll up my
walkway. She rang the bell and I answered the door. “Hi. My name is Mary Ellen and I love
watermelon,” she said. This was our first meeting. She came in and we played for hours.
It was 1970, and ours was the quintessential New Jersey neighborhood. On any given Saturday, Dad’
s with long sideburns could be found tugging competitively on lawnmower strings. The smell of
freshly cut grass permeated the air. You could hear the sound of garden hoses spraying water against
olive green Buicks and burgundy Chevrolets. These are the sights and sounds I remember from the
childhood friendship that Mary Ellen and I shared.
Three years ago, Mary Ellen became ill. Throughout her sickness we would meet to talk. We would
go to her favorite place for Rocky Top French Toast. We had philosophical conversations. We spoke
about energy and the laws of attraction. We spoke about faith and optimism. And not surprisingly,
we spent a lot of time laughing. When I say that it wasn’t a surprise, I mean that is what our
friendship is - it is uplifting, elevating and inspiring, even in times of heaviness.
Last year, Mary Ellen moved to my town. We have daughters the same age, and this summer she
and her daughters came to my house for lunch. We sat in the backyard together and we watched our
girls play. The girls giggled and ran for hours; they sprayed each other with garden hoses. And, they
ate… watermelon.
In our friendships, we nurture a part of ourselves. Through our friends, we become the people we
want to be.
Contributor's Notes...
LM Berger lives in New Jersey with her husband and two daughters. She is a freelance writer, and has been a
small-business owner for 11 years. Her work has been published in The Asbury Park Press, Home News
Tribune, Atlantic Highlands Herald, Courier News, Courier Post, Daily Record, and Daily Journal. She is a
member of The Monmouth County Creative Writers' Group.
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