Sandbox Perspective

For exactly 24 hours, I had the pleasure of having a childhood friend visit me in DC. For certain folks - mi studio, su studio. In between jobs, Jori had an enviable 3-week winter reprieve from her residence in NYC that translated into a cushy stay with her mom in our former stomping grounds of South Florida. Palm trees and fresh squeezed orange juice galore. Well, yes, a recent major power outage in Miami, but we hailed from the far nicer locale of Ft. Lauderdale. You Miami’ans want to prove me otherwise?

Jori is a unique name, yes? Poor thing has spent her entire life spelling her name for teachers, new friends, registration personnel, and inquiring minds who just want to know how she got a name like that. A phrase that ran through our past was, “It’s like ‘Lori’ but with a J.”

Even my own father couldn’t get one of my best friend’s name’s right. I’d come home to a note on the kitchen table that read, “Your friend Rory (or worse, Drory) called.”

While pregnant, Jori’s mom read a book by an author named Dorian Gray. She switched out the “D” for a “J” and so was born Jorian. Jori for short (or torture, at all graduation ceremonies and when she was on The Today Show). Watch the video, yo.

Upon meeting in 3rd grade, I had glasses and braces and Jori was carrying some excess weight. Together, we coped with life as any two dorky kids would – we banded together.

From age eight to 22, we fell most places on the friendship continuum – friends only because we had friends in common, acquaintances, best friends forever (BFF!), and silent strangers passing in the hallway.

Only two or so reunions since college, I was thrilled when Jori said she wanted to come visit en route back to New York. On the day of her arrival, we text messaged back and forth about train times and when I could pick her up. I was dealing with a crisis (Jackie-defined) at work, I conveyed in abbreviated abuse of our fine English language.

It hit me how weird it was to be saying something so adult – crisis at work – to my friend who I remembered most vividly as someone sitting next to me in the backseat of one of our mom’s cars, or at an assembly in our elementary school cafeteria. I felt like I was playing dress-up; how could I be talking about work with Jori? Studying, maybe, but work?

I met her at the train station – a stunning knock-out and excess-free. She was having lunch at a café when I arrived (salad…where’s the PB&J, Jor?). In between bites, she told me about leaving her first job post-college after three years, taking a new job that proved disastrous after just three months, and how she was looking forward to leaving the recent quarter-life crises’esque feelings behind her to start fresh at another job. And we thought AP exams were rough.

We made our way back to my stu-stu studio, a room embellished with what some might consider an illegal amount of pink. Jori loved my rosey abode, though. I thought to myself, “How is she visiting me in my apartment, that I pay for?” So weird.

That night, I brought Jori to the language school where I volunteer teaching English to non-native speakers. As I told the class, she was our very special guest. Indeed. From there, we headed back to where I work for a lecture by Richie Roberts (the real person behind Russell Crowe’s character in the film American Gangster).

Into my office we go. Jori, this is my desk.

Then we met Richie Roberts and took some photos. Jori enjoyed the lecture and even asked a question during the Q&A period. “That’s my friend,” I thought proudly.

From there we went for an indulgent dinner at Acadiana, gourmet Southern cuisine. Not a minute after sitting down did I unintentionally knock the silverware off of the bread plate, with the result of a loud, clanging noise in a nearly empty restaurant. DC goes to bed early. I also got butter (again, not on purpose) all over the cloth placemat.

“This is why I don’t date,” I told her. We seemed like kids in a grown-up world, eating our biscuits and halibut. Story of my life.

Back to my pink paradise and then to bed shortly after. Before passing out (feeling young and old simultaneously), we talked about mutual friends, what we’d do tomorrow, traveling, guys and sex. Ok, ok. She talked about guys and sex.

We awoke to a cold and rainy DC day. “Ok, go shower," I told her. “I’ll go when you’re done.” Aren’t I a gracious host?

The 3rd grade duet needed coffee to get their bearings. When did we evolve from chocolate milk? Maybe I should get a mocha, I thought. Maybe then this would feel less surreal.

We had brunch and walked around Georgetown. I remember when it was a huge deal for our parents to let us go to the mall alone. We’d try on bras at Victoria’s Secret, even though we really had nothing to put in them. Jori does now. Boy does she.

And then it came time for her to go back to NYC, back to the friends who didn’t have their first sip of alcohol in her living room with her older brother.