By Amanda Cleary Eastep
One after the other, the six of us crawl out my friend’s apartment bedroom window and onto the flat, tar paper roof of Wilma’s Cafe where the farmers gather on Saturday mornings to drink coffee and eat Western omelets after milking or plowing or planting, depending on the season.
To me that roof is a wonderland. Forbidden territory.
Only rain and sun touches it. And maybe once in a while a man with a bucket of fresh tar.
Now our tender, bare feet run amok.
What I wouldn’t give for a roof to crawl onto out of my bedroom window. I would lie on a blanket under the stars and write secrets in my diary about my love for the boy with the crooked nose.
We are all still in our pajamas, having hardly slept, because sleepovers are contradictions. And roofs are not meant to be beneath feet as we soon find out when the sound of the furious cafe owner reaches us from the sidewalk below.
We all try to fit back through the window at once. Giggling and guilty.
The mom of our slumber party host will take the brunt of the owner’s anger, but she can handle him. She is a waitress at the Ramada Inn, lets us eat raw cookie dough and call her by her first name, and knows words my father only says when he hits his thumb with a hammer.
Three of us have stayed friends since those days 38 years ago.
Last night, we met for Chicago-style pizza with three other friends, because the girl who left for college in Florida, fell in love and stayed there came for a visit craving the food she misses most.
We gorged ourselves on the all-American comfort food, warmth and nostalgia. A family size cheese and sausage forced us into a circle where we shared news of our children’s challenges and accomplishments and into which we brought many experiences unspoken and others exposed like gushing wounds.
Why do people get together after so many years have passed and so many miles separate and so many experiences have transformed them?
I guess because we are each others’ youth, and children’s friendships should never be underestimated. At our most vulnerable age, we form bonds and little fierce tribes who war on playgrounds, defending each other against bullies and rallying after boys break our tiny hearts and grandparents die.
You can simply pick up and yank on the cord woven early of shared experience and secured with one of those bowline knots farmers use on their animals. That kind of knot is easy to untie if you want to but doesn’t slip even under extreme tension.
Last night, within that circle–like the one you make when you play truth or dare at slumber parties–we reminisced a lot, too. About high school road parties and family campouts. About our small town upbringing and how some things, like Friday night fish frys have not changed. Deep fried, perch, bread slices plastered together with butter, and slices of lemon meringue pie.
A beige diet, kind of like our childhood town.
But life is never really beige. We were just naive then. And now we aren’t.
We understand that raising daughters alone on a waitress’s salary is impossible without the safety net of loving grandparents.
We see that swinging a hammer for years wreaks havoc on shoulders that have carried the weight of family responsibilities.
That communities can strive against change but can’t stop the kind of people who will run barefoot right over your head.
That young love fades, but true friendships don’t.
Amanda Cleary Eastep 
What a brilliantly written piece. I’m one of those your first commentor referred to, those who don’t have many warm memories of shared childhood antics and connections that span miles and years. The oldest friends I have are from my junior and senior year of high school. We have a few memories, but I moved after my freshman year of college. They knew me at my absolute most broken worst but still want to be friends with me. I wouldn’t have them now without Facebook. I am jealous of these friendships you have, and wish my daughter, who is 11 and on the autism spectrum, would have memories like yours. She only has friends at school and fortunately my daughter makes unforgettable memories for everyone at her school so she’ll at least have those to look back on. I loved this piece. Can’t wait to read more of your work.
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Tammy, thank you for sharing this about your life and for your kind words. I often think about the enormity of the gift of my childhood, knowing how others whom I know and love have carried more pain than joy with them into their adult lives. Your daughter sounds like she is gifting memories to her friends…what a difference that will make in their lives. Thank you for being here. I’m looking forward to that happening again.
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What a delightful story. One has to wonder how those who have no warm memories walk through life. We can only hope that everyone has one special memory. I lost a friend a while back. Life did not always allow us to see each other yet when we did the time just melted away. I also believe that a friendship between women is such a strong bond they seem to understand. I only hope I can leave good memories for all who have touched my life and them mine. Love you
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Blessedly I have many good memories and carry them around with me. Love you, too.
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What a wonderful story. it is always fun to get together with old friends. the memories u share can never be taken from u and only u can share them. takes u back to an easier time. u and Becky should write a book. thanks for sharing. I too enjoyed times on that roof.
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Hi, Chris, I would love to hear those stories. 🙂
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Good memories and heartfelt writing..
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Thank you! I’m pretty sure you are my biggest fan. 😉
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What a dad you have, like mine he became a good friend and confidant. That is rare.
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Yes. Love my friends who knew me way, way, way back when. It keeps you whole to be known in that unique way…a part of yourself that sometimes hides but is still there waiting to be remembered. Loved this.
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That’s an interesting aspect of childhood friendships, Jamie. They help us remember ourselves and forgotten or missed moments. My friend shared a funny memory of our senior prom about she and I sharing a bottle of sparkling grape juice at a road party. Yep, I was a wild one.
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So beautifully written Mandy. You just transported me back to the days of our youth when times were much simpler. Love your writing.❤️
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I’m so glad you enjoyed it. Thanks for commenting; that means a lot to me. I’m definitely going to be writing about our early campouts!
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