Remembering Lesli

Longest night of the year, and I'm tossing and turning, dipping in and out of sleep. It's not visions of sugar plums but rather snippets of to-do lists that dance in my head. And not really dance, either. More like lords a'leaping, these last-minute lists are.

But what's really gotten me up out of my warm bed this longest night to shiver in the glow of my computer screen is the thought of Lesli. Today (actually, 12/21/09) would have been her 50th birthday, and I forgot all about it until today had become tomorrow.

When the story of a friendship begins with two babies' being plunked into the same playpen while their moms visited, you know the reminiscences must be many and varied. But since this blog's overarching theme is a celebration (alright, and a commiseration) of aging, let me focus -- as Lesli did -- on the wrinkles across her brow.

Of course, she didn't have any! Being a tender young teen, she glowed with a porcelain perfection inherited from her mother. But with a bluster more like her father's, she'd point at her forehead and implore me, "Key! If you ever see me doing this," {eyebrow raise} "tell me to stop, okay?" What's that? "Seriously," she went on, her eyes like saucers and one hand now tracing the furrows created by her sharply elevated eyebrows. "Don't let me do this. I don't want to get wrinkles."

"Pippin," I said (we always called each other by our last names), "you're 16. I don't think you really need to worry about wrinkles just yet."

As it turned out, she didn't really need to worry about wrinkles ever. Cancer took her at age 44, and if by then her furrowed brow had begun to stick, well, I just don't remember. To me, her face will always glow with porcelain perfection -- rather like the sky outside my window this very moment.

How long have I dwelt in reverie?! The longest night is at an end.

Happy birthday, Lesli!