Friends
An Enduring and Remarkable Friendship
The one truth is this: Because of Marilyn, I am a much better Barbara.
Posted May 5, 2021 Reviewed by Ekua Hagan
It’s 1968. One little girl of 14 and one big girl of 18 meet because the little one’s almost-21-year-old big brother Steve falls in love with Marilyn.
Marilyn didn’t actually have to invest any time in young Barbara’s adolescent life, for Marilyn had already won Steve’s heart. Yet, with every visit to Steve’s house, Marilyn walked down the black and white linoleum hall from the front door to Barbara’s blue carpeted bedroom; sat on one of her twin beds; and talked to her like the big sister of whom Barbara had always dreamed. With authentic interest, Marilyn asked: “What’s doin’?” “How are your friends?” “What’s on TV?” “Any boyfriends?”
Marilyn’s sophistication was awe-inspiring, the way she drew the Maybelline eyeliner so perfectly across her eyelids with just the wisp at the end that went up like the tiniest of insect legs. Her brown bangs were perfectly cut straight across her forehead and her hair flipped out effortlessly just like it was supposed to in the late '60s, never frizzy like Barbara’s dark brown hair. “I’ll show you how to do the eyeliner. And I’ll help you work on your hair.” Putting on makeup and helping me with my hair are tiny lessons, all precursors for loving teachings that have joyfully spanned 53 years and counting.
After failing my behind-the-wheel driver’s test three times, my mother understandably couldn’t take my teenage angst any longer (the stress defined by my hysterical crying brought on by my extreme disappointment of failing yet again). As my 20-year-old benevolent friend and "big sister," Marilyn stepped in as my driving instructor and took me out on the South San Francisco streets following the same route as my upcoming exam. She calmly explained what I needed to work on in her quiet, thoughtful, yet serious voice, always praising me when I followed her guided directions up the narrow hills; down the one-way alleys; and stopping at the yellow lights. She drove me to the fourth exam and I passed with high marks. She was as ecstatic as I was to see my smile as I walked out of the instructor’s car waving my successful driver's test in the air. The previous failures were replaced little by little with the confidence gained from this final triumphant experience… all because of Marilyn’s calm training and patient understanding.
I left home for my first quarter at UCLA, a personal journey toward self-awakening and education that ultimately included three degrees. Marilyn attended two years of college, one year before marriage and one year as a newly married 19-year old. Although Marilyn did not have the experience of going away to school, and I left home never to come back, this never mattered in our connection. She was with me at every academic victory. Marilyn was preparing for motherhood while I began my college life. Yet, we were always 'on the same page' even when we weren't in sync with our life experiences. Our conversations were defined by our hearts and our shared values, which had little to do with my research papers or final exams.
From her own experience and soothing demeanor, Marilyn taught me to become a better mother than I would have been. When I asked my mother for on-the-spot parenting advice, she became very agitated, saying, “I don’t know, Barbara. Things were different then,” or “I didn’t have that problem.” My mother’s sentences were punctuated with strong final "periods" that ended both the sentences and our conversations.
But when I turned to Marilyn, which I did more and more in such personal areas, she would gently guide me, sharing what worked for her or reminding me that I was a good enough mother, that I was doing my best, again, never judging but gently suggesting at just the right time.
My mother’s voice was usually strong, loud; I, too, tended to yell to get my point across, especially when I was frustrated or angry. I saw Marilyn respond to her children in a different way. When she was frustrated or upset, she became very quiet, almost whispering. So quiet that the child having the temper tantrum had to silence himself long enough to hear her. Wow, I thought. How did that work? Clearly, he calmed down and listened. There was no need for raised voices. Marilyn taught me how to become more gentle with my own three children.
With each of the births of our sons, after Marilyn made sure her own two children were taken care of, she flew down from San Francisco to stay with me. She helped me recover after each of my C-sections by driving the designated child to nursery school; going to the market; preparing meals, and even getting up in the middle of the night with the new baby. She wanted me to recover and get my sleep. “You need to rest now before I leave because after, you won’t be able to rest at all.” She never complained about being tired, just showed her joy in helping us.
Thirty years ago, when my husband and I celebrated our 15th anniversary, we drooled over the idea of taking a "big" trip, one we had never taken as parents. Marilyn readily agreed to fly down (again) and stay with our boys: 11-year old, 8 ½-year-old, and a 5 ½-year-old. She deserved a medal for doing this, yet, once again, she happily took them to camp, other activities, and did all the marketing and cooking. To say this was the best gift ever was an understatement.
When my sons went away to the university, Marilyn was also always there for them, literally. Each attended UC Berkeley and on holidays and time off, they would often visit Marilyn and Steve for a home-cooked meal and some TLC. I always felt a great sense of relief knowing they were in loving hands when they were far away from home. Each time they left, to return to campus, Marilyn called to tell me how wonderful the boys were. These calls meant the world to me.
Yet, Marilyn and I aren’t the same in every way. She is more logical in her thinking, writing lists for not only groceries but for all her "To Do" activities. I prefer a mental list that is never quite accurate. She laughs as she reminds me of something I forgot because I didn’t write it down. I am notorious for forgetting at least one of my possessions wherever I am, often after visiting their house. Now she simply adds, upon my final hug and before I leave for the airport, “I’ll mail you whatever you forgot,” as if it’s a given that I will leave something. We both laugh, knowing she is right.
Then, there are my tattoos. She shook her head, not understanding why I needed to permanently ink parts of my body, but despite her own dislike of tattoos, she never changed in her unconditional love for me. “You’re crazy.” I agree and jokingly suggest that next time we go together so she can get her tattoo. She laughs and just says “Yeh, right.”
We have had many annual girls’ weekends away, where for two days and nights, we relaxed, ate, shopped, and talked non-stop. On one of these jaunts, we bought matching silver rings, with a compromise reflecting our different tastes. The more conservative Marilyn likes understated jewelry while I prefer glitz. Little diamonds in the ring were "too much" for her. We compromised. We purchased wider rings than she would have liked, but no diamonds. I added two small bands of diamonds under my ring to satisfy my love of all things sparkly, but we have the same piece of jewelry, and I cherish the fact that we can connect daily through our rings while living 400 miles apart.
Marilyn knows my unique tastes, often calling to tell me, “I found some really comfortable shoes. I got them in black, but they come in wild colors that you will love.” Despite Marilyn’s conservative color schemes (black, grays, blues), she knows that the bright colors are for me. “I just saw a jacket that is so you.” And, then with impish laughter, she adds, “Who else would wear it?” Of course, she is right. Marilyn knows me so well, warts and all. She laughs and shakes her head because of what she calls my weirdness. She worries about my strange eating habits, yet she is the first to ask me what she should buy to have in the house before my next visit. “I know,” she says, “protein bars, turkey jerky, a specific flavor of coffee pods; sparkling water, and yogurt. I also found the malt balls you love at Sprouts. I froze the beef ribs we had for dinner last night so you can have them when you come for a visit.” Marilyn just knows.
My house is filled with some of the best finds from Marilyn. They are not only her recommendations but often her generous purchases (not an exhaustive list, but a sample): “I want to buy you your first Mahjongg card,” and so she did in 2016. She found a lotion that works best on my dry, cracked heels; dental floss that doesn’t break easily; a flour and sugar sifter that doesn’t hurt my hand while using; a special gold-coated pan that air fries in the oven; a ricer to mash potatoes (I didn’t even know there was such a thing, but it has changed my life); a ground beef masher (another life-changer); nightgowns that help me stay cool at night; an ink stamp that covers over personal information on discarded mail; and a product guaranteed to remove hair frizz (she has still been trying to help my frizz even after five decades). “This one really works, Barbara.” She also gave me a framed canvas: “Chance made us sisters… love made us friends.” She gifted me a pillow with the words: “I smile because you are my sister. I laugh because there is nothing you can do about it.” Of course, my laughter is one of good fortune. How did I get so lucky to have Marilyn as my sister? My other plaque from Marilyn says: “Sister… Angel on Earth.” I am convinced this should really sit on her bookcase and not mine!
For me, Marilyn has been a combination of benevolent mother, devoted sister, and dearest of friends. She can hear my voice on the phone and without responding to my hello, she says, “What’s the matter?” We are like this with each other. That’s why my heart stopped when Steve, not Marilyn, called in early July of 2019 with catastrophic news. “Marilyn has lung cancer,” was what I heard from a far-away voice becoming almost a whisper due to my pounding heart that was breaking apart. I couldn’t catch my breath, and all of our worlds crumbled overnight.
Despite this sad, new devastating journey, the ease of our friendship continues. We still laugh, but we cry as well. We have nothing left unsaid, both so grateful for each other. “I don’t know anyone who has what we have together, Barbara,” is what Marilyn said during my last visit as I massaged her feet. Her outlook on life is one of positivity, so even in these darkest of times, she continues to guide me with her realistic optimism.
The one truth is this: because of Marilyn, I am a much better Barbara in every way.
