Kimberly

I know I usually have something light and frothy that I post on here. However, today is different from other days. Three years ago, one of my best friends was killed in a car wreck. Obviously, she was taken too soon. I have often said that everything happens for a reason. However, this is one of the few things in life where I can't find a reason.

Kimberly, for those who did not know her, had a vibrancy to her that was almost unparalleled. I first met her when I was in college and she was visiting mutual friends in my college town for the weekend. Instantly, I knew we would be friends. I don't know if it was her fabulous pair of embroidered platform sandals or the way she could work a sweeping, pointing arm motion into a conversation, but somehow I knew that we were two of a kind.

A few years passed. I would see her in her hometown at various functions. We hung out at New Year's parties a couple of years in a row. Then, I wound up in Houston and she wound up in Austin. We talked of getting together and even followed through a couple of times. We could drop and pick up a conversation and never notice the time that had passed between whether it was minutes or days. She had her own colloquialisms that I learned to find endearing. She affectionately referred to anything or anybody she could not appropriately name as "Hoochie Mama" and had a constant debate between "the this and the that."

Then, something happened that I will always be thankful for (although I am pretty sure she wasn't). Kimberly lost her job. After a couple of months, she found a job in Houston. I had a buddy. In the year she lived here, I cannot tell you how many times my phone would ring at around 8:00 at night. I would answer and hear on the other end, "I'm bored. Do you want to meet for the M and the P?" That was our almost unbreakable code for manicure and pedicure.

We lived on opposite sides of the city, but we would both hop in our cars and race to the Galleria. We knew the salon there would take their last appointment at 8:45. We would sit and gossip, make fun of people, and quite frankly laugh the whole time. Every time, she had the same debate (French or color) and became obsessed with mastering the technique of the French manicure in case she needed to give herself one "in a pinch." We would then finish, go eat a super-delicious meal/snack of broccoli cheese soup and southwest eggrolls at Chilis in the food court and head home. I always made her call when she got home and was in her house. To call her neighborhood "the ghetto" as she did was quite frankly an insult to the ghetto.

Like all of us, there were things she wanted or did that made no sense to any other person. But they did to her and that was what mattered. For example, her aforementioned house that she rented when she was here. I was literally scared to drive over to it. I often did, but never without some trepidation. Did I mention it was literally yards from the airport landing strip and in a crime-ridden neighborhood? Yes, she had a large dog. But, how she ever managed to sleep through the night is still a mystery to me. She befriended "Spikes" a large black man who lived two doors down and always knew she could call him if something went wrong.

In a similar vein, I will never forget (no matter how hard I try) the entire weekend we devoted to finding her a shower curtain. Like myself, she could imagine what she wanted and then search high and low until she found it. She was very specific...white on white dotted swiss. After visiting Target, Bed Bath and Beyond, Linens N Things, Ikea, Wal-mart, and about 23 specialty stores, she finally found it. However, there was a problem. She already had shower curtain rings that had a clip on them so she did not need it to actually be a shower curtain with holes in it for the rings. It could just be a normal curtain panel. I kept saying, "But this is what you want." She did not get it and continued the search until she found simply a panel. I would have just bought new rings. But when she finally found it, you have never heard anyone so happy about a shower curtain.

Happy is how I always remember her. Like anyone who has made it to adulthood, she had her share of tribulations. During the time in Houston, I watched as she went through a painful breakup. But, she always kept her spirits up and never wallowed. Her glass was always half full.

Our last weekend in Houston together, we spent the day shopping our usual haunts (for old times sake). She loved to find a bargain at an antiques store and could spend hours pouring over the vintage jewelry in the cases there. If there was an old beat-up lizard handbag, stand back. It was going home with her. It was a typical spring day in Houston and the weather was perfect. We drove around in my little red convertible playing Tom Jones's greatest hits a little louder than we should. When we finished, she hopped in her white SUV with the matching fuzzy dice hanging from the rear-view mirror and popped the cd in to listen again. I drove away smiling thinking I would never have another friend who could truly understand just how fun that was. Billy Joel was right. Only the good die young.