So there.
We’d met before, sort of. That didn’t give me reason to spew an antagonistic chicken-grease kiss at her cheek in a field in Fayetteville, Arkansas. I’m not sure how I expected or wanted her to react since I’d be states away in just days. Maybe that’s why I slobbered in such grand fashion. It was a sloppy hello. It was a liquid-y see you later. Except I didn’t expect to.

It starts to get fuzzy after that. She infiltrated my home in Colorado on her Thanksgiving break. The cold winter of my acquaintance-filled existence suddenly found a bright and lively new face and voice to entertain and challenge me in ways I’d never considered. She managed to jumpstart the dying lump that my heart had become. Close to Valentine’s Day, she sent me a package. I was in the car headed to a day on the slopes after my roommate Bruno and I swung by the Post Office. I told him to go ahead and open it. He did and promptly pulled out a pair of plastic handcuffs that said, “Take me. I’m yours.” It was a joke, but there was no explaining that to Bruno. He wasn’t about to let me live that down.

It seemed with her that life became an insane road trip. I think she’s still on it. I got to ride along through more stops than I probably deserved. One of my favorites will always be Hays, Kansas.

It was the afternoon on the first day of a three day weekend and we were on the phone. I was in Colorado, she was in Missouri.
“I want to see you” one of us said.
“We could meet in Hays, Kansas,” someone replied. I can’t remember who said what anymore. “It’s a 6 hour drive for each of us.”
There was a pause. Perhaps an “Are you serious?” or two. And then, “I have to shower. I’ll call you back and decide after that.”
“Ok.”

A shower passed and we were back on the phone.
“Ok. Let’s go.”
“Really?”
“Yea. We’ll meet at the Arby’s in Hays.”
“You’re sure there’s an Arby’s?”
“Yep. Aren’t you?”
“I think so. Leave in thirty minutes.”
“All right. See you soon.”
“Drive safely.”

There was no back-up plan. It was just a matter of showing up at Arby’s in six hours and spending a day or two in Hays. Logic had not entered the terms of our friendship.

It wasn’t that trip, but somewhere later that I realized I couldn’t keep up. I always figured she knew she couldn’t stop yet, anyway. So now I get phone calls from the road that say things like “I’m with my friend Liz and she’s about to run a marathon. You two can talk about marathons. Call her at (###)###-####.” Because it’s her and no one else, I pick up the phone and call Liz. That’s just the way it works.

I never know what I’ll hear next. Sometimes I get a letter with a joke perfect for campers “Two muffins sat in an oven. One turned to the other and said, ‘Is it hot in here, or is it just me?’ The other screamed “AHHHH! A TALKING MUFFIN!” Sometimes it’s a postcard from the Northwest in code, or a bottlecap magnet that says “Clothing Optional Club”. Or a pumpkin pin without tire tracks. Sometimes the letter is filled with reminiscing, other times it’s about the new web she’s weaving. Ultimate, love, and life nearly always make an appearance.

It’s hard to believe I’ve only known her for a few years. And I’ve never known her to be in the same city, and rarely the same state as me. She lets me live vicariously through her. She’s got such guts, half the time I don’t know what she’s following, but I admire her for going after it, whatever it is. If anybody can track it down, it’s her. She’s going to be a writer, a nurse, a hairy-legged new-age hippy, a trailmaker, a heartbreaker, a wonderful mother, teacher, an artful student, a lifelong learner, a wanderer. She is one of the most fascinating people I know. And she makes me remember what it’s like to be a kid, what it’s like to be an old man (not that it takes much). When I forget, she reminds me what it’s like to think and feel. She challenges me to write and care and LIVE in all capital letters. Everybody needs people like that.

If you’re out in the world and you happen to see her, whether her hair is down to her butt or shaved all the way off, you might recognize her by her skirt, her smile, or her homemade Lady Danger Man Shirt. If you’re lucky, she’ll burp in your ear. If it’s Friday, tell my friend Amanda "Happy Birthday", will ya?