Happy Birthday Kate, Eight Days Late

Every January, I'm reminded of how old I'll be that year, because apparently, the first Super Bowl was in 1967—a year after I was born. Then, between February and March, I start noticing April expiration dates on things like my whole-wheat high-fiber English muffins and my light vanilla soy milk. But the most ominous annual sign of my impending AARP eligibility is when my friend Kate's birthday comes around every March 14. It always tells me that mine is (God willing) right around the corner in two weeks.

I've been trying to formulate a little birthday tribute to Kate without making it sound like a eulogy. This hasn't been easy. So as you read this, just keep in mind that she's not dead yet.

My very first memory of Kate is a random one, and it may not even be accurate as far as time and place, but regardless, it's what sticks in my head. I was sitting at my desk and Mrs. Glaze's 7th grade Texas history class. (I can't even remember whether Kate was in that class with me. I tend to think so.) We sat in those old-fashioned desks with the metal-footed box platforms and the particle board/faux woodgrain Formica veneer curved tops. Most were for right-handers, but there were always a few for the lefties. Anyway, I was leaning over to put my books under the desk when I saw her foot. She's tall, so of course her feet are not out of proportion, but it was the sandals (and not necessarily the size of them) that caught my eye. They were these gold strappy things that I had never seen before. I envied those sandals. For some reason, the brand name Bernardo sticks in my head. I don't think I've told her this. Probably because it sounds insane.

I can't remember exactly how we became such good friends, or exactly when it was. I do remember feeling so comfortable at her house, and with her family. I'm the oldest child in my family while she's the youngest in hers. I thought it was so cool that she had two older brothers and an older sister. I think they were a little protective of her and sometimes I somehow felt or wished a little bit of that rubbed off on me.

Spending nights at her house had some advantages and disadvantages. Sometimes I would end up sleeping on the floor because she had a water bed and would always flop in her sleep like a freshly-caught fish. I'd always wake up nauseous and wonder if I could find some Dramamine in their medicine cabinet. But then I would wonder how it might interact with whatever illegal drugs I may have taken earlier that night.

She used to collect heart-shaped boxes. To this day, I think of her when I see one and I'm tempted to buy it for her. But I don't, because I think that would be kind of gay.

As far as I know, she has never been able to write in cursive. She prints in capital letters. I've always wondered what a handwriting analyst would say about that.

She was always the honor student, while I felt like her goofy sidekick. Like she could wear one of those "I'm with stupid" T-shirts. When I went to law school before she did, I felt smarter for the first time. But that didn't last long. She followed in my footsteps, but she had smaller shoes to fill. I floated through law school on my daddy's dime, using the gas card he gave me to buy beer and overpriced convenience store groceries. She worked her ass off on school loans that took her years to pay off. I remember a time when she could barely pay her bills and couldn't even afford the stamp it took to mail a check. And this was back in the days when postage for one first-class letter was about 13 cents. (No, we're not really that old.)

When we were in college (or was it high school?) she drove this maroon convertible Fiat Spyder. I always felt so cool riding with her as she zoomed in and out of traffic like a guy would drive. And I was always so impressed that she knew how to drive a standard and step on the clutch and shift gears so smoothly. When I got my parents' 280ZX and had to learn how to drive it, Kate would just laugh at my total lack of coordination.

When I look back, I'm sure we were careful in our own way, but I still believe it's a miracle that we survived college together. We did a lot of stupid and dangerous things, any one of which could have landed us in the hospital, in rehab, in the grave, or even in a Mexican prison. Because we emerged virtually unscathed, I think we both figure the universe had some better plans for us. There are a million vaguely-remembered stories I could tell, but because Kate and I are both lawyers, not only will I plead the fifth for both her and myself, but I will also invoke a sort of mutual attorney-attorney privilege and refrain from sharing some of our very best material.

When I was 20, I had jaw surgery and lost about 10 pounds when I had my jaw wired shut. (I seem to recall that that's when my boyfriend Jimmy tried to break up with me. That's it. Wait till she has her jaw wired shut and can't talk. I remember writing him a nasty note with a red Sharpie on a yellow legal pad as I growled and groaned at him through my clenched pathetic face. He decided not to break up with me, and instead brought me a teddy bear to make up for his cruelty. I ended up dumping him later once I regained my ability to speak.) But I digress. Anyway, after losing that much weight, I was a somewhat emaciated 95 or so pounds. I think Kate was living in a duplex in Fort Worth at this time. We were getting ready to go out to some fraternity party, I think. That was back in the days when we spent hours "getting ready." Now that I'm older and really should spend more time on my appearance, I wish I could get some of those unnecessary hours back. Then again, it took a lot of time and hair products in those days to give me that Flock of Seagulls look I was always shooting for. Kate was trying to help me find something to wear that didn't make me look like the big-shoulder-pad-suited David Byrne in that Talking Heads video ("same as it ever was…"). No matter what I put on, I was swimming in it. I'll never forget seeing her flop down on her black and white couch laughing at me and saying, "This is like trying to dress a Q-tip." I can't remember what I wore that night, but it was probably black. So we went to this party at some fraternity house. We climbed some steep wooden stairs in this old house and probably proceeded to partake in some 200-proof Kool-Aid flavored beverages. For whatever reason (like maybe the restroom was so nasty, I decided it would be cleaner and more ladylike to go pee in the front yard) I attempted to descend the stairs. I got to the bottom in one step. My bony tumble must've made a good bit of noise, as I'm sure the stereo was blaring The Cure or maybe Psychedelic Furs. On cassette, of course. So a handful of the more alert partiers scrambled to the top of the stairs to see what had caused such a clatter. Kate, once she realized I was okay, laughed and said that it sounded like someone had thrown a chair down the steps.

We share an affinity for mocking the less intelligent. Just like with my friend Chris, I love it when I can exercise my superiority complex with someone who understands. She told me about this professor she had who was acting all smart and said something about someone having "an inkling or an inclination." We still laugh about that and use it at every opportunity.

And we always loved listening to Steve Martin. Especially Wild and Crazy Guy. I'm sure we can still repeat all of our favorite lines.

When I was at school in Paris, she and her sister came to visit me. I remember we went to see Versailles together. I'll always love it that we shared some time together there.

For a long time, it looked like Kate wasn't going to have kids. (Not that she was trying to get pregnant, mind you.) In a way, I wanted her to because I had children and I wanted her to know what it felt like. (Not what it felt like to give birth to them, necessarily, but just what it felt like to be responsible for them later.) And just like everyone who gets married wants all their single friends to get married. She never really struck me as the most maternal type anyway. Of course, neither am I. She finally did have two beautiful little boys who are already making her pay for some of her sins.

Kate became a very successful attorney in Dallas. She talks about all these big-money deals and transactions and stuff that are so far over my head that I again feel like the "I'm with stupid" sidekick. She goes to all these fancy parties and often has drinks at some high-class place like the Ritz. She pays retail for designer clothes and doesn't think twice about it. I remember when we used to shop at Ross together. She wears Manolo Blahniks while I have Montego Bay shoes from Payless. She has a nanny. I have a neighbor I dump my kids on every once in a while. But no matter how different our lifestyles have become, when we get together, just like every time any old friends get together, it's like no time has passed. Except for all the immoral and illegal stuff.