Friends always

My best friend Mardi (Pittsburgh version) stayed with me for a short while. I picked her up at the airport on Wednesday, then we had dinner at Uncle Julio’s, where we had a chocolate piñata.

Mardi was here to visit her sister, Gloria. We all had dinner at Kendall’s in Noble, OK, where even the half-sized chicken-fried steak is so big that it doesn’t really fit on the plate, and the cinnamon rolls served with every meal are extremely delicious.

When Mardi’s son Alex and my daughter Jamie were young, Mardi & I usually saw each other twice a year—once in Pittsburgh and once in Norman, OK. We readjusted our visits once our children started kindergarten in their respective cities. Fortunately, her parents would drive to Oklahoma every summer, bringing Mardi & Alex with them, rest for a few days, then drive to Nevada to visit Mardi’s paternal uncle. After staying out there for a while, they would return to Oklahoma to rest again for a few days, then all the Pittsburghers would head home.

Even before Mardi & I had children, we had so many adventures together, ranging from happiness to terror to oddities. We traveled all over the country, singing along to our guitars, even once singing for our supper in a Quonset hut that had been turned into a bar in south Texas. We played at parks, college campuses, really wherever we wanted to entertain. We were the original flash mob of two before that term even existed.

We were terrified when a serial killer tried to get us into his car, but we declined, then outsmarted him by crossing the street when we saw him making a U-Turn to come back to snatch us. Not a hair on our heads was hurt. When we saw his photo on TV later, we realized our lives had been at stake.

At Springlake Amusement Park on Mardi’s Dad’s Westinghouse Family Fun Day, we screamed in fright while riding The Wild Mouse, a wooden two-seater roller coaster with unexpected hairpin curves that made it feel like you were flying off the track. We thought we were crying in extreme fear, but later a photo of Mardi & me on that coaster appeared on the cover of the in-house Westinghouse newsletter, with a quote about us laughing our way through the ride. The photo seemed to prove the laughter, but that is certainly not what we were feeling.

In the dog world, Mardi & I accidentally harbored what was supposed to be a German Shepherd but turned out to be a coyote we named “Whatever It Looks Like.”

In Dravosburg, PA, a small borough of Pittsburgh where Mardi & I shared an apartment for a short time, we once crawled out of crank windows to avoid a real dog foaming at the mouth, which looked like rabies but was actually distemper. Also, in Dravosburg, we (along with our two boyfriends at the time who were also best friends with each other) got kicked out of a local street fair because Mardi’s boyfriend, a tall, athletically built guy, decided to jump in the bounce house.

That wasn’t the end of our troubles in Dravosburg. When my Mom, at my request, sent me my guitar in its case, the Post Office called the police, with claims that I had been sent a machine gun. I was a flower child, all about peace & love. I’m pretty sure a guitar case looks nothing like a machine gun case.

I had to show the police that nothing more than a guitar was in the case, but the police used any chance to harass us, even going so far as to falsely charge us at one time. This helped me to decide on a career in criminal law because I realized that not all formal accusations are true.

In South Dakota, a police officer used his headlights on Mount Rushmore so we could see it in the middle of the night. On that same trip, Mardi pushed me out of the way of a speeding car and saved my life. Thanks, Mardi. I am forever indebted.

Wherever we went, people would tell Mardi she looked like Ingrid Bergman, known as one of the most beautiful women in the world. Mardi looked so much like Ingrid that I once featured her as Ingrid on a cover of a newsletter I was producing. On the other hand, people would tell me that I looked like Mick Jagger. Though I think he’s a good-looking guy, it’s a face for a male, not a female.

For years, we went to the Mardi Gras in New Orleans, obtaining more string beads than any person should ever own. We were playing our guitars and singing in a park, when someone shouted, “Bob Dylan is over at the town square!” Everybody jumped up and ran there (including us), but it was a false rumor.

This is a small sampling of our experiences. There are so many more that I could fill a book, which I might do someday.

In 2023, Mardi’s adult son died unexpectedly. Since that time, Mardi, usually one of the happiest people I know, has been extremely sad. I cannot fully understand the depths of such a severe loss because that never happened with my child, but I know why she is sad.

While Mardi was here, I had both a group rehearsal and a performance for Solar Flares, the singing-and-signing quarter I am part of. I invited Mardi to attend rehearsals to sing with us and even perform with us at the Vets’ Home.

Mardi is an amazing singer, and she would have done well, but she responded, “I don’t sing anymore.” She had always loved music, and this statement only underscored her despair, making my heart sink at the sadness of it all.

When Mardi wasn’t visiting her sister, we watched some comedians on streaming services (Jim Gaffigan, Lee Ann Morgan, Joe Machi, Michael McIntyre, Joe Machi, and Ryan Reynolds), and Mardi laughed a few times. Whenever we were in the car, I played a few songs on Spotify that Mardi liked, and she sang along a bit.

As I drove her back to the airport, Mardi said, “Be sure to read the message I left you on the dry-erase board with your photo of the creature with the Peace sign.” When I returned, I found this message:

Even in her sorrow, Mardi left a message that brought me joy. Because that’s what best friends do.