Travels
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From London, To London

Over the years, I’ve come to realize that friendship doesn’t know distance. I’ve also come to realize that a lot of my stories have to do with me being drunk and/or incredibly hungover which makes me question some of my life choices, but whatever.

I was on the train from London to Birmingham, last night’s hair in a tangled mess, resting peacefully on my faithful companion – my inflatable neck pillow. I had gone to a techno-rave thing the night before till 5 am and could still hear the beats echoing in my ears.

Joey, Libby, George and I (sounds like the name of a British band) were finally reunited last night in the name of techno. It had been two years since we were all in the same room together and it felt so good to see their faces and hear their laughs. Man, I had missed them.

We met when they were on exchange during my last year at University in London, Ontario. It’s hard to imagine University life before they came along, I don’t think they know this but they made my last year. Without them it wouldn’t have been nearly as fun, they were always up for anything whether it was 3 am Burrito Boyz or dollar beers at Jacks. I am so grateful they walked into my life and stayed despite being so far away.

I finally arrived at one of the Birmingham stations (there are two) around 9 pm, I was supposed to be there at noon but was too busy watching The Great British Bake Off with Joey and Libby. I walked aimlessly around the station, hoping this was indeed the Birmingham I was supposed to get off at, and there she was…

Seven year old Morgan Elliott running towards me on the playground, skipping rope in hand. Only this wasn’t grade one, this was the Birmingham, and Morgan, big smile on her face as tears dripped down mine, was running towards me with a pizza box in hand. I had kept her waiting for hours and she greeted me with a fricken pizza. If that isn’t friendship, I don’t know what is. I didn’t even tell her what train I was on she just knew to be there at that time to surprise me. This is by far the most romantic thing anyone has ever done for me. I screamed and cried in her arms then jumped up and down like a little kid on Christmas, except this was better than Christmas, because Pizza. Bless.

I ate the pizza with the same aggression as a lion feeding on a wildebeest. Morgan took one long look at me, probably searching for a glimpse of her old friend in my hungry eyes, then stated “we’re going out.” I looked up at her, tomato sauce dripping down my face and hands, pointed to my messy hair as if to say “get fucked, we’re not going out.” Morgan was having none of it, “fuck you, bitch, we’re going out,” she replied. I owed her.

I bought dry shampoo from the pharmacy downstairs and got ready in the train station bathroom. We paid no mind to the people giving us strange looks as Morgan sprayed my hair while I put on mascara in between fits of giggles. It had been over a year since I last saw her, but it felt like no time had passed at all.

Friendship is weird. You pick a random human and decide to do things like talk on the phone and fart in front of. A special person to add to your squad full of other special persons. These special persons love you and your quirks and think your farts are funny and sometimes gross but never judge – you, not your farts, farts are fair game to judge. We collect these special persons throughout our lives, some only last a while, others a lifetime. But it’s the ones who stay, the really special ones, who don’t know distance.

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