Honeysuckle

When I was a kid, one of the wealthiest families in town lived two houses down and catty-corner across the alley from me.

No, it most assuredly was not because I lived in a posh, puff-puff neighborhood; I think it had more to do with this particular family living modestly in the middle of a small working-class town. Our families went to the same church, the same school. We were simply neighbors.

There were three kids in their house: Jeff, who was one year older than I; Mindy, who was three years older; and Tony, who was three years younger. Growing up, Jeff and I were sometimes in the same Sunday school and/or Bible school class, and occasionally, my sister and I would venture across the alley to play with them.

Mostly, though, in our neighborhood, we played with the kids who lived across the street from us. They would usually gather at our house; for some reason, we always seemed to have the net up for badminton or the tent up for camping. Our house — or, more precisely, our yard — always seemed to be The Place to Be.

Mindy had a pony. They kept him (her?) in the country, but every so often, she would have the pony at her house. My mom has a photograph of Jeff and me and the pony.

[Manya: I had a pony!]

: )

One summer, Mindy showed me how to suck the “honey” out of honeysuckle. I always think of her when I see it growing all around. Which it is doing right now: Over at The Lovely’s, out back in the middle of my beloved poison ivy patch, everywhere.

Before we got into high school, Mindy, Jeff and Tony had moved. Just a few blocks south, though, and we still saw them at Sunday school and regular school.

My freshman year, I decided to go out for tennis. Mindy was on the team, too, but despite our having been neighbors when we were “kids,” we were not exactly friends. She was a senior in high school and had been on the team all four years; in fact, she played No. 1 singles and doubles. I was a lowly freshman just hoping to make the JV team.

And somehow, over the course of the tennis season and the rest of the school year, Mindy and I became true friends.

We would hang out together, occasionally, on tennis and band trips. At school, every few days, we’d go to lunch together: We’d pile into her car — a four-door 1960s-model Ford Fairlane that reminded me, oddly enough, of Teaberry gum, color-wise (the car was the same color as the background behind “TEABERRY” on the package, and it had a white top) — and head out to the grocery store her parents owned, grab a sandwich, cruise through The Ville and then return to school.

I used to love making her laugh.

I remember being kind of incredulous at the time: I mean, I hadn’t set out to become friends with her even though we’d been acquaintances most of our lives. It just sorta happened ... like most friendships sorta do.

Anyway, honeysuckle reminds me of her.

: )