It was as simple as that. Barbie looked like a Malibu Barbie Doll. On valentine’s Day there were heart shaped boxes in abundance. Bouncy, and blonde out of a bottle, she was the personification of laughter and fun. She was sincere and compassionate, and through the years of unwavering friendship, there was the birth of sisterhood.

Losing my Mom at 16, and having my siblings and myself distributed among relatives, could have been a very difficult time, but I had Barbie. She had cleared half her closet and drawers so I could move in with her family. And, at 16 I made a difficult decision to keep the friendship and forgo the housing.
You see, Barbie’s Mom was always comparing us. “Why don’t you get Diane’s grades, why don’t you dress like Diane, etc.”

At 16 I valued that friendship, and didn’t want it undermined. Ergo, I opted to live with an Aunt who rode brooms at night. That was also the beginning of the stitch work of our sisterhood.

Barbie and I both dated boys who were childhood friends, and whose parents were in the small town’s hierarchy, so our lives were dictated by social protocol. Fun parties, with the exception of one visit by the police to my Aunt’s house.

Barbie and I never drank at the parties. At one particular party, a Doctor’s son had not been invited. The smitten friend tipped police there was beer at the party, and we were told to head to the beach before police lights descended on the little cottage…that indeed “did” have beer.

I do not know whose bright idea it was to tell us it was okay and go back to the cottage because “Mr. Officer” was still there and he was taking names. I knew I was in deep dodo in the land of witch. I dutifully gave my name, and yes, the letter came to my Aunt’s house.

Imagine now the sound of a volcano rumbling. The sound it makes before the eruption…and then the eruption. The eruption part is my Aunt. “Wait until your Uncle Comes Home!!!!!”

Hope sprang eternal with my Uncle. I explained to him. “Uncle. I knew that letter was coming and I could have done one of two things. I could have gotten the mail and discarded the letter, which merely was informational that I was “in the presence” of alcohol. Or, I could have given the address of my father.”
My father was someone I could not have lived with after my mother’s death because he was an alcoholic.

Uncle, without flinching, said “you’re right”. And that was the end of that.

Now, imagine corking a volcano in the middle of eruption. Ha!

Barbie and I both, to this day, are not drinkers.

Barbie and I collaborated on the school paper in an Aunt Blabby and Uncle Gabby column…making up every single letter because no one wrote in with their problems. Our advice was outrageous to the fictitious letters. We were good at making each other laugh.

Barbie would sit in the girls bathroom sink in the morning and sing. I kid you not. Her favorite was the Smother’s Brother’s “I fell Into a Vat of Chocolate” (unless you were a teen’s in the 60’s this is a moot point).

One morning our songbird had no notes. She complained her stomach bothered her. I compelled her over and over to call her Mom and go home but she said “Betty” would not be happy about that, and stayed and took the bus home. I called Barbie shortly after I got home, as always. Her brother informed me that Barbie had been taken to the hospital with a ruptured appendics.

Dutifully, I went to see my poor sick friend, who was in a local hospital run by the nuns. Pretty strict in rules there. Barbie was feeling better, and since there was a wheelchair in the room we thought it might be nice to take a bit of a ride….on some other floors….one having a nice little ramp. Sans skateboard, the wheelchair gained a certain velocity we found….until we ran into a nun. Really.

Barbie and I left our teen years behind and both married within a year of each other and, neither of us married our childhood sweethearts of five years. We did watch them go off to Viet Nam. Both of us married others, and both of us had our first daughter within months of each other.

Barbie moved to Florida, and I stayed North, but every year we managed to go to NYC for a weekend birthday toot where, without caring who witnessed our display of singing Sinatra’s New York New York, and Ba Ba Ba…Ba Babra Ann by the Beatles…we would sing arm in arm down Times Square. These are memories forever imbedded somewhere in the universe’s time continuum.

Barbie stood by me at 16 at my mother’s funeral, and I stood by her when her Mom passed when Barbie was 50. Each link in our chain grew, and it was sisterhood strong, link after link. Now we are sharing our children having children. Sweet sweet sisterhood. We always end our phone calls with love and hugs, and I embrace her presence every day in my life, Not everyone gets a forever playmate, and sister, rolled into one.