She and I met a long time ago and I remember the way she would tell me that when I was as old as she was, "things would be so different."
She was 27 and I was 22.
We saw each other through a lot, she and I.
Our friendship went through a few incarnations and was always made of a tough type of fabric, the kind that could stand years of no communication but could get started up with a phone call.
Many years ago, following such a phone call, she saved me from a tough financial spell by giving me a highly paid job at her fashion photo studio. Our bond was renewed within minutes.
Yet something felt odd.
She acted strangely.
I asked and she said that all was fine - she might be a little anemic was all.
As her impromptu agent, I became more and more concerned as she would leave me in the studio alone for days on end and would not accept the bookings I got her.
After a few months, she decided to close the studio for the summer and our paths separated again for a while as she seemed to be asking for space.
Then on January 2, she called me and told me that she had a job for me.
She asked me to take care of her as she and her husband went through Rapid Heroin Detox.
All of a sudden, it all made sense.
Not knowing what I was committing to, I said yes.
And I did.
The three of us booked ourselves into a hotel room as they both took turns going through a process the doctors only very briefly explained to me.
The notion of time went away and years later, I only think of it as a blur made up of a lot of pain and some sweetness, too. Singing The Rolling Stones' "Angie" over and over to her in the middle of the night remains one of my life's treasured memories.
When it was time to go home I dropped both of them off and kissed her goodbye.
And that was, I believe, the last time I saw her.
We spoke a few times, since, mainly when I have called her and been able to reach her.
She has divorced, remarried, had babies and well, has grown a new identity for herself. She is now a mom, happy and I am guessing that I remind her of a time that she would rather forget.
I get it. I do.
And most of the time, I am fully fine with it, knowing that the way I feel about her has little to do with being in the same room with her.
I also remember how, when my life and identity changed drastically, following my divorce, there were a few people I could not take with me. I remember that it caused some of them a lot of hurt.
But today, I just miss my friend.