Is she my mirror? Am I hers?

I just spent four days with my oldest friend. It's impossible to calculate how much she means to me. Not only because she is funny, creative, and kind. But also because of our history. We have known one another for so long I truly don't recall meeting her. We appear together in our Kindergarten class photo. I could see her home from my backyard. In that way, she is like the sun or the wind. I don't remember not knowing her. Before this weekend, we hadn't seen one another in four years.

I admit I was shocked when I saw her Thursday night. Her face is heavily lined. Her teeth are discolored by time and coffee. She walks very slowly with a cane.

The years have taken its toll on both of us, to be sure. We're both overweight. We both cover the grey. We both have holes in our smiles -- though I am working through my dental issues and am in the process of getting an implant, while she's just letting hers go. She has a bridge but she took it out the first night and I never saw it again.

Lest I seem very shallow, let me share something with you: she was always the pretty one. Always. Even during our awkward adolescence, when we both had thick glasses, bad hair and braces. She looked like Marie Osmond with thick glasses, bad hair and braces.

Now next to her, I'm a babe. This is just wrong. This is not the natural order of things. Especially because I am no prize package.

I wonder how she feels about this. Has she noticed, too? We can discuss many things -- even her leaky bladder and my diarrhea (!) -- but not this.