it feels good to be known so well

for my best friend. happy birthday. (no this is not two days late)

And it feels good to be known so well

I can’t hide from you like I hide from myself

I remember who I am when I’m with you

Your love is tough, your love is tried and true blue

— “True Blue”, boygenius

---

Sleepovers, staying up late to exchange secrets like currency, brushing each other’s hair, zipping up each other’s backpacks, Camp Half-Blood t-shirts, Hamilton phases, denim jackets, and getting your first job at the same place on accident. Somehow not talking for a couple years and then picking up where you left off, being unsure of the exact point in time when you started being the first one she texted about everything (and vice versa), most especially that huge job interview, and occasionally asking each other if the email you’re about to send sounds professional enough.

us in SF, circa 2019

Having her peer review your serious texts before you send them (“is this too mean?” “no, I think that’s perfect”), her pulling up to your house to pick you up, only to realize you’re wearing embarrassingly polar opposite outfits. She is donning an 80s houndstooth blazer, trousers, and vintage oxfords—along with somehow every color of the rainbow; maybe even some hues that haven’t been invented yet. You, on the other hand, are dressed as if en route to attend a 2000s skater boy’s funeral: oversized hoodie, yoga pants, and converse—all of which are the color black. “This is so like us,” she exclaims, bursting into laughter, and I join her, giggling as I slide into the passenger seat of her Chevy Cruze (which we’ve appropriately named Tom Cruise), some indie garage band with 540 monthly listeners playing from her speakers in the background. Unashamedly screaming at the top of your lungs in her car to Michael Bublé, 5 Seconds of Summer, and/or Broadway musicals, painting the nails on her non-dominant hand for her, collaborative Pinterest boards, reminding her to lock the car, and asking each other the inevitable and unavoidable “should I get bangs?”.

us on film, circa 2021

Getting matching necklaces from Claire’s that start rusting within a week and always saying “we should do this,” in reference to some arts and craft project one of you found online. Starting the project and then not finishing it because you both have ADHD and have already forgotten about it and moved on to a new one by the end of this sentence (and not finishing that project either). One of you being a dramatically frequent crier and the other not having cried in two years. Incredibly niche and personal gifts for each other on birthdays and holidays, and always managing to be the most annoying people at the movie theater because of all of your unwarranted commentary (from which some notable lines will make it into both of your Letterboxd reviews because you guys are the most hilarious people to ever live). Diving into an MBTI rabbit hole and realizing your personality types are actually perfect twin flames: ENFP (you) and ENTP (her). Concluding that this is the reason you’ve always along so well and balance each other out, and saying “THIS IS SO US” every time there’s a dynamic duo in a movie we’re watching with our same personality types.

“Saw this and thought of you,” reads a message on your phone screen. You open the message to find an image attached of a t-shirt at the thrift store that reads something like: You don’t scare me. I have two daughters. You don’t have any daughters, which is why it’s funny. “I’M DEAD. HELP ME,” you text back, and after you hit send, you pause. Why was it that when we thought something was funny, our immediate response was something revolving around death or suffering? “I’M CRYING”, “I’M WEAK”, “THIS IS LITERALLY KILLING ME”. Weird. But you don’t question it further.

us in a photo booth at the underground market in seattle, last year

Wanting to go out to eat but never actually knowing what you want to eat. Doing rock paper scissors to decide and ending up in the drive-thru for Taco Bell (again). Laughing uncontrollably at the stupidest videos and rehashing drama that happened three years ago as if it happened yesterday. You’re both still equally as mad at it, so it might as well have. Remember that guy we used to be friends with? Remember the way he used to talk to us? Remember how that one girl’s mom basically called me a racial slur and made fun of the color of your hair? Remember the guy I liked in senior year? Remember the people we almost dated and how much of a bullet we dodged for never doing so? Remember the clunky boys’ sneakers you wore with a dress in that one photo when you were like thirteen? And then she tells you to shut up and you’re both laughing all over again. And it feels like nothing else matters. Because nothing does. Well—in that moment, at least.