Leaning on my Very Tall Best Friend

Every young woman needs at least one friend who understands her so completely that she does not need to say anything because this special individual just knows everything.  Nothing needs to be explained, nothing needs to be specified and nothing needs to be added because she simply understands you.  Well, I have been blessed with such a person who has been there for me through everything, even when I had not specifically asked her to be, and she has been such a tower of strength for me this past month that I am dedicating this blog to her as a form of gratitude and as a means of saying that I am sorry. 
Yesterday, after I had called her for the umpteenth time this week and she had let me go because I needed to take my pathetic self home by metro, I started thinking of all the times we had shared together thus far.  One image that kept recurring in my mind was how she would always make a silly joke about how my tears would ruin her shirt each and every single time I would find myself crying on her shoulder and how it would constantly make me smile and then laugh.  I would be sitting in her lap, face pressed against her solid shoulder, her light honey-coloured blonde hair so similar to mine tickling my cheek and she would listen to my mumbles and grumbles until she found the most appropriate moment to slip in her famous joke.  Then, we would inevitably break into a series of giggles that ended with more hugs, more laughter and me foolishly wiping my salty tears away with the back of my chubby hand.
All seventeen years that we have known each other have been spent though, for the most part, in laughing until our sides were hurting and our eyes were streaming with the good kind of tears that only come when you are in the company of someone with whom you can be completely and so vulnerably yourself.  The laugh sessions we have induced upon each other would make any court jester jealous since we have never needed to perform any tricks or tell any wild and crazy jokes;  we just needed to spend a few minutes together and our guffaws could be heard in the next town over.
Sitting down at the kitchen table for dinner with her family was all it took to send us into fits of uncontrollable giggles that infuriated Lori's father to no end.  Shaking his head, turning his greyish green eyes towards us, he would more often than not mutter, "Jesus by!";  Lori's mother, her mouth trying to remain as serious as possible while her eyes danced and expressed otherwise, would try to chide us into being quiet.  Of course, their reactions just fueled the wild fire of our mirth until dinner was done with and we could go and play Nintendo or watch television while letting loose the roars we had so badly managed to stifle while eating. 
And how many times do you think we would be told by her mother or my father to go to sleep when we were sleeping at each other's houses?  Too many than I can recall!  And what would we laugh at while we heard her mother expressing her impatience before coming to Lori's room or before my father would say from across the hallway that it was enough?  Beats me - all I know is that I was always on the verge of laughing-so-much-I-am-going-to-burst tears with Lori around and all it ever took from each other was a look or a small smile.
Well, of course, there were also the times when we were just plain silly with each other.  For instance, during one of my last stays in Lourdes de Blanc Sablon at my father's house, Lori and I were sharing his bedroom and a sneak attack on her did not turn out so well for me.  Even though we had never wrestled or play fought before, perhaps because of my tiny frame in comparison to her much taller stature, I decided to tackle her while she was sitting down on my father's bed, drawing quietly - well, anyone who has seen us together can imagine just what her arm movement to block me could do to me!  I was sent flying backwards so that I fell off the bed, ass first with my legs reaching towards the bed that they had just left.  Not deterred in the slightest by my change of circumstances, I leaped again, only this time, she sent me crashing towards the wall right behind her and I ended up being squished between the bed and the wall.  Needless to say that that last flying session of mine left me stuck in an uncomfortable spot for quite a little while because neither one of us could catch our breaths and stop laughing long enough to get me out.  There was also that time when she made me laugh so hard that both milk and a spaghetti noodle came out of my nose!  I know, I know, what was I doing drinking milk with spaghetti, right?  But that is another story altogether!
Thus, all of the instances we have lived together have always been filled with smiles, giggles, laughs, guffaws and plenty of loud and obnoxious talking;  to this day, we still manage to make each other die of laughter over the phone and while chatting on the internet, but nothing beats a live laugh session with my dearest friend.  And, have I told you that she has the greatest laugh in the world?  Her not-quite-musical laugh is so genuine, high-pitched and full of escalating undulations that you cannot help but want to join in.
Only, recently I have been so concerned with having her comfort me from afar that I have failed to notice her tears starting to stain my virtual shirt.  I have been so worried about the pattern of my own tears that keep escaping from my eyes and onto my shirt or pillow, despite my best efforts, to see that she is needing me to wipe hers and to help her through her own tough moments.  It seems as though my tower of strength, my rock, and my lighthouse needs me to become a supportive scaffold and I can only hope that I will be able to support both of our weights in sadness.