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  • It was well after midnight when I stumbled home from Y’s house. Tea and acupressure turned into more tea and then an invitation to stay for dinner, a walk to the corner store for a bottle of wine plus e&j and triple sec for sidecars. Drinks and dinner and more drinks in a quiet house that we filled with our laughter and our serious conversation and our outrageous plans. We talked about traveling and her desire to return to Mexico. We talked about my chickens and her cats. We talked about my recent writing ventures. We talked about her latest love interest and our principles for intimacy. We talked about new adventures and old expectations. We talked about our children, older friends than she and I, as we watch them get dangerously close to adulthood. We discovered that we both love sweet potatoes and kale and we shared a dinner of these two favorite foods that she prepared. They tasted both familiar and new. Eleven hours spent almost entirely around the kitchen table.

    I hadn’t planned to stay so long. In fact, I’d come over with only my prescription sunglasses, figuring I’d take them off for the acupressure session and then put them back on to walk home. It’d been hard enough to get out of my house when outside was nothing but gray and windy. But the sun broke through and I realized I’d run out of excuses and it was time for my session. I didn’t know it was going to turn into a Session.

    Though I was anxious about being touched, I realized that our friendship—all of the friendships that I hold close—is made up of connection and convergence, great exhalations and merciful pauses. I hadn’t survived this past year and half without letting myself be emotionally held by Y and my familiars in a tight circle of trust.

    The acupressure that I’d been so resistant to was neither here nor there. Y’s work on my legs was good, the work on my back not so much. At one point we both laughed when she made some adjustment that had me sliding off the mat (“are you sure that’s how it’s supposed to go?”) She’s learning. Me too I suppose.
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