just a perfect blendship

I don't remember exactly when I met Janie, but I'm glad I did.

I had a modest amount of friends in high school, both male and female. I was close with some, while others were "people I just knew." You know, I saw them in school — perhaps they were in some of my classes (the ones I actually went to) — but I never got together with them outside of regular school hours. Of course, there were my closer friends, the ones I hung out with and bonded with for the four years of high school... and some years beyond.

Janie was a truly great friend. I didn't realize at the time just how great a friend she was. When we met (whenever that was) we bonded instantly. I don't really know how much we had in common, but our personalities just clicked. In hindsight, she was a true and loyal friend and we never had a cross word or disagreement. I cannot even say that for some of my closest friends. I butt heads plenty of times with Albert, who was undoubtedly my best friend in high school. Sometimes our animosity would keep us from speaking for days, even weeks. Sure, we would eventually reconcile and "forgive and forget," but that never transpired with Janie.

Janie and I got together frequently. We would grab something to eat or go to a concert or a movie or just hang out. I saw Tim Curry in concert with Janie at the tiny Shubert Theater in Philadelphia in 1978. It was a terrific (and intimate) show and I recall embarrassing Janie when I screamed "HI TIM!" at a particularly quiet moment in the evening's performance. Tim stopped and peered into the audience, using his hand to shade his eyes from the spotlight. I laughed and Janie playfully tried to distance herself from me while feigning humiliation.

Janie asked me — possibly begged me — to accompany her to see the sprawling, three-hour-plus epic that was Warren Beatty's Reds. I suppose she had exhausted all of her options before she relented and dialed my phone number. I went — because that's what friends do — even though I knew nothing about the film or its history or its subject matter or, specifically, its length. After an hour of so of fidgeting in the dark and shifting in my seat, I whispered to Janie that I had absolutely no idea what was going on. Jani stared intently at the screen and waved me off with a brusque "shush." At the two hour mark, the lights in the theater came up. I exhaled withy relief, loudly exclaiming, "Well, I'm glad that's over." Janie frowned and informed me this was just the intermission. There was still another ninety minutes ahead. My eyed widened... but I stayed. Because that's what friends do.

I met my wife in early 1982 and I remember Janie giving one of the most excited responses when I told her of my plans to get married. Of course, Janie was included on the guest list. Some of my closest friends from high school were not, as I had lost touch with them or, in some cases, an irreparable falling out had occurred. But, not with Janie. No matter how long the gaps were between contacts, we just picked up where we left off. Because that's what friends do.

In 2010, one of my closest friends took his own life. He had actually known Janie when they were little kids. I reconnected with Janie at a memorial service held in my friend's honor. She had moved out of the area some time previously and had recently moved back to Philadelphia. We made plans to meet for lunch and just a few weeks later, we found ourselves in a little Japanese restaurant in center city Philadelphia talking and laughing like we had in high school. We caught each other up on our respective lives and made plans to not wait so long to get together again. (Unfortunately, that has not yet happened.)

Somewhere along the line, Janie convinced me to join Facebook. (No, I'm not looking to point blame.) In reality, Facebook, for all its faults — and there are plenty! — has provided a convenient platform for keeping tabs on folks from my past in a comfortably passive manner. Every so often, Janie will "like" or comment positively on one of my many (many, many, many) Facebook posts. On birthdays and anniversaries, Janie is always there with a heartfelt greeting or a sweet memory. She has expressed her genuine joy at the path my life has taken and for the loving relationship I have with Mrs. P. And, somehow, I know that Janie's joy is genuine. I see Janie's own accomplishments in infrequent posts (because nobody posts as much as I do) and I give them a "thumbs up" or some sort of sarcastically-backhanded "Josh Pincus" comment — knowing full well that Janie "gets me."

Because that's what friends do.

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