I used to sprint the two blocks to her house with the speed of an Olympic athlete—even if it was just to sit on the giant house-length front porch to wait for her to finish eating dinner. Then, once we were together, we were off for an adventure. And it was a different one every day. One without computers, tablets or smartphones. The only technology involved was the kind our imaginations could invent–far superior to anything Silicon Valley can offer today.

I wrote about Carol a couple of times. As the first “loud girl” (the kind of woman who doesn’t wait or ask permission or apologize for being their authentic selves) in my life back in 2013, then again when I actually reconnected with her and a few other badass friends from high school in 2017. Since that meeting, we’ve remained in touch. Most notably, she reached out to me when my dad died in 2018, sending my mother a beautiful arrangement of white roses that she raved about for weeks.

When Carol’s father passed away the next year, I went to my hometown to attend the wake with my mom. Much like my dad’s celebration of life, Carol’s dad’s wake was fraught with moments of joy as friends came to pay their respects. It was really lovely to see so many people converging on my friend’s family to give support and love. And, in spite of the circumstance, it was lovely to her mom and siblings.

We met up for dinner on another visit because she also happened to be there staying in town with her mom. “I’m going to play with Carol,” I said to my mom as I left the house. It’s a phrase a yelled on my way out the door thousands of times as a child.

What’s so fascinating to me is that she and I have lived such different lives. She’s a mother and a grandmother and a busy professional. But she’s the same exact girl I hung out with as often as possible as a kid. For most of our childhood, if you saw one of us, the other was in close proximity. Still outrageous. Still telling side-splitting stories. Still the boss.

We laughed so hard as we really dug in to catch up on each other’s lives. But mostly, we talked about running around our little town with a kind of unchecked freedom that can’t exist today.

A first best friend is something very special.

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