The Postscript by Carrie Classon

Talking to a Friend”

Yesterday, I got to talk with an old friend.

I used to see Cheryl almost every day. But for the last several years, we have seen each other once a year, at most. She’s going to direct my show, so we’ll be working together again. We had coffee and soup on a very cold day, and I had this strange feeling I had slipped back in time. I didn’t need to explain a thing, talking to this old friend. I knew her and she knew me, and I lost track of the number of times we finished each other’s thoughts.

“If we can’t find a chair that looks good…” I began.

“You could bring a throw to toss over it,” she finished.

“Exactly,” I said.

We did that all afternoon.

This is also the week my editor, Patty, is retiring. Patty has been editing my columns for most of the time I’ve been writing The Postscript. She’s repaired my fractured sentences and added literally thousands of missing commas to my writing, as she has for writers for the last 44 years, and if anyone deserves a restful retirement from all that bad punctuation, it is her.

But I can’t imagine not talking with my friend Patty every week because—although I’m sure she is one of the best editors in the business—that is not what makes her really special. What makes her special is that every week she says something nice about my column. There is no need for her to do this, but it means the world to me. She does this every single week, and I will miss her terribly.

But I somehow feel that Patty will remain in my life, just as Cheryl drifted away for a bit and circled back. The people who are meant to be in my life have a way of staying there, in some form or another, sometimes taking a step back to make room for the new friends in my life.

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