Like every Thanksgiving Break since freshman year of college, Brent and I go for a wacky drive the first night we were both home (usually it was Tuesday) and we would catch up in person. Sophomore year, I remember our friendship had been kind of shaky because dramatic occurrences between us that shall not be discussed and I didn’t know it it was going to be weird, but then we were in the car, and I made this confession I’d been keeping secret from absolutely everyone, and he said “I know,” and I was like “How did you know?” and he said “C’mon Rachel. You’ve mentioned it out of context.”

And he was right.

And Thanksgiving, senior year of college, when the fog had lifted and I was happy because it was the first break where I was actually looking forward to going back to school, because I had a little life there for the first time. And keeping with a tradition, Jon, Brent, and I went to the Outback for dinner and I was giddy and bouncy and Jon was like “What happened to you?!?” and I was like “I’ve found inner-peace,” and I was joking, but it wasn’t that far off from the truth.

Then we went back to Jon’s house and we sat around on the couches and it was like nothing had changed from senior year of high school, when we used to ditch school and come here. (Jon poked me in the stomach. I shrieked, “Don’t touch my stomach!” (it’s a pet peeve!) “If I can’t touch you’re stomach, can I touch your boobs?”/”Sure.”/”Umm….”/”C’mon Jon, it’s okay. Lots of guys have touched me boobs.” And he was disturbed and totally gotten.)

And last Thanksgiving, having a drink with the two of them, and toasting, and more gotten (don’t become #23!)

It’s because of these little things that I still have this picture in my apartment – it’s been in every single dorm room, Jersey City, Astoria, and now Hyde Park.

I don’t go anywhere without it.

This framed picture has past the point where its appropriate to display,(it it of my decathlon team, in Alaska, at Nationals Competition in 2001)  but I don’t care. I love this picture, and this frame, because it reminds me of A Moment when I was absolutely and perfectly happy. After we posed, and crossed the street, I fell into step with my coach/friend, and I was giddy. “Oh my god, we’re in Alaska…us…we’re…”
“I know, can you believe it.”

I keep this picture up, not just because it contains people I love, but because it reminds me of One Moment where the world stood still and everything was perfect.

In this picture, I am smiling. In this picture, I am not thinking of the recent ex-boyfriend back home, who is probably making out with a girl two years my junior, In this picture, I am not thinking of my violated sense of justice nor the “now whats?” In this picture, I am just me, happy, and surrounded by people I adore, and who adore me. That was an amazing experience.

I keep this picture, because it reminds me of other Moments. I remember Adrienne’s hand on my shoulder the night we found out we were going when I declared “…and this week has sucked so much but this is…” because she knew what I was talking about. And I remember Dan and Jon protectively flanking me when we had to go to the library at IHHS for some random PTA awards night. And I remember flying down the steps and into Jon’s arms and then hugging everybody and forgetting that I’d been crying probably ten minutes ago.

And I remember the last night in Alaska. After the awards dinner, I cried (shocker!). My nationals score was slightly lower than my states score and I was a screw up. “…if I hadn’t been…than…” and my coach shook her head at me and hugged me but didn’t know quite what to say, and oh god, other embarrasing witness to my tears,  and then her and me and Brenty hung out in the stairwell at the hotel for hours, just talking.

And then Jon knocked on my door and pulled me, in my pajamas (dark green pants with a white stripe. I’m wearing them now.) out. We got coffee at the only jazz club and we talked about relationships and love and we probably thought we were so DEEP because we were seventeen and when you are seventeen and have a broken heart you think your revelations are brilliant. On the walk home it was cold, and  he put an arm around me, nothing flirtatious, just because he is a gentlemen. I have never forgotten what he told me: “I know you’re really sad right now because of [boy drama]. I know you can’t see it now. But you’re going to be okay. With or without him.”

Jon’s words meant nothing then. They didn’t mean anything until years later.  This picture reminds me of standing at the street corner, him rubbing my shoulder, and assuring me I would be okay. Because he was right. Because here I am now, over five years since that conversation, hopelessly single, but mostly happy — angsty moments aside.  

And then she called me a few weeks ago, and we talked. “Oh and I have to tell you this,” I exclaimed. “Because both Brent and Jon have disapproved and…”

I told her what it was. And she says “You know, I knew what it was going to be as soon as you said Brent and Jon disapproved…”

And I think, I love these people, for knowing me so well, and for caring about enough to worry about the decisions I make, and respecting me enough to trust me. I love them, because them remember that time at the diner when I almost threw the ashtray at Jon (I thought better of it and threw my keys, but they still tell the story as me throwing the ashtray) and because to them, Rachel can be an adjective as well as a proper noun, and because they can understand a situation based on a one sentence reference, and because when I finally do get around to dating a guy who’s not a loser, you better believe they’ll be asking if he’s good enough for me. Sure, I can be accused of nostalgic here, but even though these perfect situations only exist a few times a year (save my contractual agreement with Brenty) they are lovely and wonderful and give something to my life that I can’t get from anywhere else. (“There’s people that you’ve known forever that like, know you in this way that other people can’t. Because they’ve seen you change. They’ve let you change”.)

And so I keep this picture up, because it gives me hope about overcoming odds, doing the unthinkable, and the unexpected. Maybe it’s lame that I refuse to let go of a snapshot from five years ago. But how I am in that picture is how I’d like to think of myself.

And despite how much I miss New York, and Astoria, and the life I lived, for what was probably the best year of my life, in the real world, there is an immense amount of comfort in the Jersey version of familiarity and love.

Doesn’t matter who you are
It doesn’t matter where you go
If you’re a million miles away
Or just a mile up the road
Take it in, take it with you when you go
Who says you can’t go home?