What it Means to be a Friend

“What was so important?”

“I needed to tell you something.”

I gave him a disbelieving, but humoring glance. As friends, we told each other everything…to the point where one knew exactly what the other was thinking. What could there be that he could tell me that I didn’t already know?

“And I needed to give you something as well.” So he pulled from behind his back an oddly shaped parcel wrapped in newspaper, just like I like.

I took it in my hand and put it under my arm, waiting for him to tell me whatever it was he had to tell me.

“Well…open it!” He rubbed his palms together, buzzing with excitement.

So I did. I found, cupped in my hands, a ceramic bowl with a mosaic of colored glass shards. A wave of understanding crashed over me. I looked up with teary eyes and a grin at my friend.

“How I love metaphors.”

“I know you do.”

On the bottom, in turquoise ink, “I’ll always be there to put you back to back together,” was inscribed.

“And I’ll always be better for it.”

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