Evolution.

So, I've been thinking about the time that I spend driving late at night. Last night, I went out for coffee with ANR, as I usually do on late Thursday evenings in the summer when I have nothing better to do but be in the suburbs with my parents. We meet at our favorite diner, a place we've been going for close to 10 years now (which seems absurd to say), and drink coffee until we're both jittery and have gone to the bathroom 45 times. Eventually, it's late and we have (for at least the next 33 hours) solved the problems of the universe.

I was driving home last night along the darkened road, all the lights remaining green since no one would be on any side streets at 130 in the morning, thinking about how peaceful the experience was and wondering how one can be nostalgic for something before it is over. Soon, ANR will move further North, making a drive from her home to the diner almost an hour. As it stands now, we only do our long evenings when I'm in from the city. She already lives with her boyfriend and sooner, rather than later, I'll be engaged and married. Once those things happen, it makes late night coffee harder and harder to come by (I believe.)

I drove home, remembering how much had already changed from the first summers that we would spend there. The diner had always been a popular place, since it's open 24 hours. The entire high school theater troupe would come there after shows, order pancakes and consume carbohydrates, coffee and cigarettes until we were all so jittery we couldn't move. We'd devour our food, talk for a while, and eventually people would begin to split off, to drive their dates home and quietly kiss in the car with the lights off for 20 minutes before the girl wandered inside. (Side note, I have discovered that making out in a car is foreign to city kids. It's mystifying how much of my sexuality was determined by foggy windows.) Nevertheless, ANR and my friendship deepened in that diner. We started to learn about each other, we started listening and we got over a fear that either one of us would ever run out of things to say.

I know that those conversations still happen. Just a few weeks ago, I sat in SR's apartment, vaguely wishing I would just pony up and sleep on the couch, talking to her until midnight. I kept saying I was leaving, but we'd continue. We talked for a long time about the nature of men and women's relationships, about sacrificing and about giving, which much of the time can be two different things. I have these conversation with KB often lately.

I know I am not in danger of losing my relationship with ANR. That's not at all what I mean; I just mean I wonder how much longer I will struggle into those parallel parking spaces which are too small. I wonder how much longer those lights will mean something as strong as they do now. I wonder how peaceful I will continue to feel on that brief drive home, knowing that there's some parent wanting me to be there.

When I finally stopped talking to my mom last night, I went upstairs and pulled a raggedy afghan over myself (remember the generic afghan from the Rosanne show? I never used to watch that show, but I remember the blanket. It looks like that. I got it from my grandma. Knowing her, it came from the home shopping network) and wondered how much longer I'd be doing that. How much longer would I be staying the night here, alone? Not much longer.

It's mainly because I've been having trouble being alone. I know that living alone was a pretty decent option for me, but, I have been spending so much time with him that I've not gotten used to being alone. I think once I have work and need my alone time (screaming children and long days), it'll all make much more sense. But for now, I don't like being alone.

I know, though, that the days for things like this are numbered. I'm reading a series of kiddie vampire books right now (quit laughing; I'll be there at midnight tonight to pick up the fourth one) and the main female character (a bit winy, a bit klutzy, but completely the definition of my seventeen year old self) wants to become one of the immortal. Her vampire boyfriend is skeptical of the situation and keeps telling her about all the things she might miss. He tells her that once she has become one of the immortal, she cannot go back. (And this is much to the tune of kissing and "I'll love you forever..." which I scoffed at and then remembered how my seventeen year old high school sweetheart signed his letters, "Always and Forever" or "A&F" [which looks strangely like the logo for Abercrombie and Fitch, although neither of us thought of that] and decided it wasn't quite so corny) In the same way, although I am not a vampire (not for perhaps the want of wanting to be...), I am thinking of the things that will change when my relationship escalates.

Bella, the main character, feels nostalgic for certain things, even if they're uncomfortable: like blushing or her heart quickening. I will get nostalgic for certain things too: like spending the weekend at my parents, even if it's not the most enjoyable thing all of the time. Things will change; I will not be making those midnight drives, I will be spending considerable more time asking someone to not use the couch as a clothing hamper. But, just as I am pretty sure that Bella's going to end up a vampire, because for her, blushing isn't nearly as great as an eternity with Edward (okay, I'm making these books sound henious. Which they probably are. But, shhh, I don't care.), I'm sure that the next phase of my life is going to be just as great.

Things will just have to evolve with me. I just can't believe it's changing.

I met with LSB, my old history teacher, and also with a long time friend from grade school this week, PF. It was wonderful to spend time with these people and realize that things do evolve. LSB knew me at my worst, when I was hiding under her desk sobbing unstably for most of the day over the rejection I nearly never got over (and perhaps still haven't, foolishly.) And now, she is excited to hear about my job, my relationship, my life. She had faith that things would evolve. And they do. I sat across from PF, whose heading off to a PhD program, thinking about the Halloween when I was a sexy spider queen and she was Rapunzel. We were so young, and now, we're doing so many other things. But, we've evolved together. I was nostalgic then for riding my bike with her. Now, it was delicious lunches at Tweet. We grow.

I just wonder what will replace the diner? And the coffee? Maybe, just maybe, it'll look the same, only better.