This didn't get to happen nearly enough this year.

Blues the Morning After a Slumber Party

Leaving looks like a blue Oldsmobile –
oversleeping, a horn,
a dust-followed speck falling over a hill.

“Wake up real early - please, if you will,”
said my mama who would not wait (could not wait)
in her blue Oldsmobile.

And though the sun was awake, my body was still.

You guess what my mama became!
A dust-followed speck falling over the hill.

Wet grass cut my feet, and my belly felt ill,
but I ran and I ran
after that blue Oldsmobile.

“Please, mama, please. Just keep the car still!”
But she would not wait, for it was too late:
she was a dust-followed speck falling over the hill.

My mama never looked back: no salt, fire, or kill-
just little old me, feeling like I might spill,
thinking, “leaving looks like a blue Oldsmobile –
like a dust-followed speck falling over a hill.”

Hallie Elizabeth Fields.

I only titled this blog "Hallie Elizabeth Fields" because we both hate when people do that - write whole names for dramatic effect - and I knew she would understand. Hallie is really the most wonderful person I know. She's so under-appreciated, so smart and so sentimental in the loveliest ways. It will be her birthday in a few days, and we can never believe how old we are when we really think about it.

Whenever I do really think about it, I'm always glad I've been able to spend all of my time being old with her. She will be the first person I live with when I move away from home. She is my keeper, and she is the only other person in the world to experience an Acsuf high. We've already made our dorm rules; number one is "always love ACSUF." There are so many animals named after that silly band: a turtle, a fish, a goat...

I'm so glad we will not be separated as so many best friends are while transitioning from high school to college. There's still so much we need to do. I want to learn how to knit (or crochet) with her, hear more of her stories, stroll across college campuses with her while giggling and answering her questions about whether or not people think we're best friends (how could they not think that?), share books with her, scrapbook with her, cry with her at graduation, and stay up all night laughing and ranting about politics and feminism and boys.

I truly feel in my heart that life would be miserable without her. We've discussed this many times before, often after people have told us we are too dependent on one another, but who better to be dependent on than your best friend? It's so nice, in a way, to have someone to be dependent on without being afraid of their leaving or betrayal.

In one of her sentimental cards to me, which I always love so much, she sent a picture of us in the snow and said we looked like two people who had our whole lives ahead of us. I've always loved that. I love the idea of us having our lives ahead of us together. Hallie with her life, me with mine, and both of them together - being flighty and silly and happy...

"Leaving looks like a blue Oldsmobile."

When I was younger I always hated for my mom to leave for bingo. I would stand in front of her, hold onto the car by the windows, cry, tell her that bingo shouldn't be more important, and eventually, give up. My mom always left, and my dad would have to spend his afternoons consoling a crying kid, which I hated. I hated to be consoled, and I mostly still do.

My experiences with my mom and her bingo were no different from any kid being upset when a parent leaves for work, so why do I still feel so sad when I think about her car driving away without me all those times?

One day we were both in the middle of my road, her in her car and me in bare feet, and I was in the middle of one of my normal fits. I made a funny face, though, one I had never made before, and my mom laughed. It's one of the few memories I have of her sincerely laughing and sounding happy. She told me to go show my daddy the face I had just made.

"You'll me leave while I'm doing that," I told her. I was probably still holding onto her halfway-down car window.

She assured me she wouldn't, so I ran between my pear trees, onto the front porch, and showed my daddy the face. He wasn't as amused as my mother, but I think he at least smiled.

The strange thing about that was, even though I fully believed she would be gone when I ran back outside to her car, her little blue Oldsmobile was still there waiting for me. I got to see her and whine to her for a little bit longer. Of course, she did leave for bingo only a few minutes later, but the fact that she didn't drive away even though she had the chance has always meant a lot to me.