Monday, May 11, 2009
Peter Pan Syndrome
On Saturday, she sent me an e-mail and told me I have to check out http://www.pandora.com/ It's an internet radio site that allows the listener to build his/her own playlist.
As Jill said: "You can indicate whether or not you like the song or not for the next time you play that radio station. . . . I would have LOVED this as a kid. What I like about it is that it brings up songs you might have forgotten about. It has the OH YEAH! factor."
Since then, I've been knee-deep in nostalgia, thinking about the good ol' days Jill and I used to spend together. Even though she's a year older than me, we grew up with the same taste in clothes, music and boys (kind of).
It used to be an eight-hour drive from my house to hers. Each year, on the day before Thanksgiving, I'd squish between my parents and grandparents and begin traveling southward as soon as school let out.
By the time we dragged ourselves through their front door it was late, but "the grown-ups" would spend at least an hour chatting while she and I and her little sisters played until exhaustion got the best of us or until the adults told us it was time to go to bed.
Then, for the next three-and-a-half days, we'd convert her family's finished basement into a restaurant and club -- "Knight's Restaurant."
We'd dig out the play clothes and pretend to be waitresses or managers or singers. We'd make believe that Duran Duran would come in and perform. Of course, she "dated" John Taylor (or was it Roger Taylor? I can't remember, but she's going to turn 50 shades of red when she reads this). I "dated" Nick Rhodes (or Simon LeBon, it depended on the day of the week).
At any rate, she and I spent many happy hours playing in that basement, pretending to be grown up. We didn't realize that when we grew up, we'd spend so many hours wishing we were star-struck 10-year-olds again.
Growing up meant casting off the ability to make believe you're someone else. . .unless, of course, you're writer. I started writing as a way to escape into the worlds she and I created so many years ago.
I guess that's the nice thing about writing and best friends: Both turn seemingly mandatory aspects of life -- like growing up -- into an option.