Sunny side up

Last week in Iowa City, Amy and I went out to breakfast at a little cafe in her neighborhood. We sat and talked about art, ambition, our past, old lovers.

Amy and I have been friends for almost ten years now, but we became really close four years ago when she was going through a divorce.

That was a tricky passage. I was still "good" back then. I found her decision to leave her husband terribly upsetting. She was divorcing a friend of mine, an old college classmate, a person I really admired. I wrote her a terse letter, carefully addressed it to her married name, asked her if she really knew what she was doing.

She replied with an equally terse letter, telling me that yes, she did know what she was doing, and it was very hard for her, too, thank you for your concern.

There was a great deal of drama in our early days.

Two years ago I went through my own separation, and there was even more drama. But it was different this time. A more sisterly drama. Amy forgave my judgment against her and chose to support me. We pledged allegiance to our broken promises, marveled over James Wright poems, and commiserated over the unsettling nakedness of an empty ring finger.

As we sat at the cafe on Friday talking over scrambled eggs with salsa, I had to marvel at how far we had come from the day of my indignant letter brimming with judgment. It felt like a small miracle that the two of us would find ourselves there, talking warmly of our lives, making plans for the future. It felt like our relationship had left its painful adolescence and become a strong connection that no vow could create or destroy.