Sheila

We met at the Georgia Academy for the Blind in Macon, Georgia. She was five years old, I was six, and she liked to sing as much as I did. We gathered all the really important facts about each other (middle names: Anne and Belle; birthdays: Oct. 7th and July 18th; hometowns: Gainesville and Moultrie; number of brothers, sisters, pets), and set out to become what has turned out to be lifelong friends.

We were certainly both badly in need of a friend on that September Sunday, when our parents drove us to that vast and unfamiliar place, unpacked our suitcases, kissed and hugged us goodbye, and left us there to begin first grade bright and early in the morning. We ached with homesickness. I know I soaked my pillow for many nights with my tears, and my mother told me she was crying, too, 120 miles away back home in Moultrie. Knowing my father, I bet he had to pull his handkerchief from his pocket and wipe the "dust" out of his eyes once in awhile as well. Years later, when I had my own little boys, I doubtedI could have made the same tough decision they did. But I know it was the right one for our circumstances. Just look at me now, I am educated! Well, partially educated, there's still a gracious plenty to learn.

Sheila and I were world class gigglers, readers, and playmates. Her doll, Debbie Darlene, and my handsome doll, Joseph, starred in many a story we dreamed up together. We placed in a talent show when we were in sixth grade, winning a free take-out dinnerfrom a nearby restaurant, The Shrimpboat, for singing a duet of "All the Things YouAre," wearing our almost matching blue dresses. In ninth grade, it was Sheila who raised the alarm when a lovably naughty classmate, Jimmy Carter, set my long hair afire by flicking his cigarette lighter next to my ear. I didn't even know it was burning until she screamed, "She's on fire!" Someone rushed over and vigorously tousled my hair to put out the tiny blaze. No harm done, just a little drama, which 9th-grade girls usually relish, and the scent of singed hair hanging in the air.

I've only seen Sheila one time in all these years since graduation. It's easy enough to keep in touch though, by phone and e-mail. She's great at sending cards. I'm lousy at it, but she likes me anyway. And I like her too, a whole bunch. Happy birthday, Sheila!