The Best of Times, The Worst of Times

A few days ago I met up with an old Varsity friend for coffee. We hadn't seen each other in years.

He's all grown up and going on expeditions to Antarctica and I get stoked when Skip detergent is on sale.

Despite living very very different lives now we still have so much in common. We can still laugh about how we both felt the week of O-Week at Rhodes when we found ourselves on a field full of people of the opposite sex - we both went to single sex boarding schools - what a mind blowing experience that was. I get the feeling Nic probably capitalized on the sudden burgeoning of females more than I did with all the males. 

We reminisced over a trip to Settlers Hospital with a paranoid friend in tow. It turns out that her first experience with the green stuff didn't quite agree with her psyche and the only way I could calm her down was by taking her to the hospital. Poor Nic got a knock on his door because he was one of a handful of people who had a car, a classic old Merc, and so he escorted us to the hospital. What we discovered at Settlers Hospital at midnight was ironically very unsettling. If my friend thought she was having hallucinations before they stopped being hallucinations on arrival at Casualty.   

Later that same day my two best friends from university res and I were chatting on our WhatsApp group. We live very far apart, one in another country, and we were last together physically when we were students in Grahamstown. So much has passed since then - we have carved successful careers, got married, had children, lost children, lost friends, gained weight, gained laugh lines but they will always be my girls.

And I mean this literally - the two of them were utter hazards and it took all of me to keep them alive for the first two years of their varsity careers. They came to refer to me as the mother of the group. To be fair the reason why I was so responsible is because I discovered fairly early on that alcohol and me did not click and so I spent most of my time sheep dogging my friends back to their res rooms in fear that they would bush dive a pole.

My one friend has kept all our keepsakes from varsity - note to self, always have a friend who scrap books. She sent pictures of all the inane notes we wrote to each other, the lists of boys nicknames we came up with, the jokes that only we shared (which I now do not understand at all) and countless pictures of us in varying degrees of sobriety.

It was glorious to spend part of my day reconnecting with all these people. 

The thing about university friends is they’re the first friends you make as an adult. They are the ones who skipped dawnies with you. They are the ones who got first year spread with you.  They are the ones who are often the witnesses of your first big love. The ones who know that you will never ever be able to drink Vodka again. The ones who walked the streets of Grahamstown with you at two in the morning because you were having a panic attack. The ones who will punch a two timing guy in the face for you. 

They will know you at your best and they will pick up the pieces of you when you’re at your worst. They are the people who navigate those first terrifying steps into adulthood alongside you. 

So here’s to my reprobate friends, the ones who taught me to be both reckless and responsible. I would drink a toast to you... but you know... Vodka... and it’s a school night...