Mo

You know how you meet lots of people in your lifetime, but only a small percentage of those people are ones that you hope to still be friends with when you’re hunchbacked, wrinkly and shuffling along with a cane? And within this small percentage, there may be a few who have made such an indelible impression on you that you hold them close to your heart even if you lose touch with them.

That would describe my girl Monique, aka Mo.

As I logged onto Facebook one night, I saw a friend request notification in the corner and clicked it open, expecting to see a friend of a friend or an old co-worker. I squealed in delight when I saw that it was my long-lost friend Mo. Well, twice long-lost friend would be more accurate, but more on that later.

Mo had moved down from Washington D.C. with her little toddler daughter. We worked together at this little teleconferencing company that was like the most feminist workplace you could ever imagine. All female executives, mostly female employees, a couple of boys here and there for decoration. Most of these women were very type A, in your face kinda chicks. And I, being a Capricorn, don’t befriend women easily and personally find the super type A female personality scary and off-putting. However, in the midst of this feminazi soup, was sweet, soft-spoken Mo. (Make no mistake, Mo was lovely and easy-going until you f*** with her and then she’ll absolutely make you regret it – my favorite kind of girl.)

Within months of meeting each other, we became thick as thieves. I was about 21 or 22 at the time, had just moved out of my parents’ house and had no clue about anything. But I was impetuous as hell and wanted to explore the exciting world that my folks had compulsively sheltered me from – smothered only child syndrome. Mo was in her mid-20s, mature and had hella street smarts. Basically, she was the cool older sister than I always wished I had. I don’t know how she even put up with me back then. If I had the 21-year old me in front of me now, I would totally smack me both backhanded and fronthanded. But among Mo’s many great qualities are her patience and understanding.

Mo is a classy Nubian princess, and most of the time we just hung out and chilled at her place with her daughter. But when we went out, I always learned something new. Like how to maneuver through a hip hop club without getting my boody grabbed. Or how to knock back an impressively strong manly drink like crown and coke and not fall off my stool. (This is an impressive feat for me, being a lightweight both then and now. I can get a serious buzz off three swigs of a wine cooler.)

We did a lot of silly things together. She was with me when I got my one and only tattoo – NOT a tramp stamp, thank you. I hollered and cursed and threw a fit the entire time, causing quite an embarrassing ruckus. But Mo just held my hand throughout the ordeal, and didn’t even complain that I nearly crushed her phalange bones with my vice-like grip. Afterward, she got one of her tattoos touched up, and all she did was wince and kept her mouth closed. It wasn’t the only time that I was in awe of her gangsta-like toughness. We were also each other’s accomplice during a number of crazy shenanigans that involved boys, stunts that make me both cringe and giggle when I think about them now.

I have lots of great memories of our friendship. But what I cherish the most is that, no matter what cockamamie idea I had or what ridiculous mess I got myself in, Mo always had my back. We got through crushes and heartbreaks together, and she gave me this little purple book by Iyanla Vanzant called Acts of Faith that I would turn to in subsequent years when times were rough. Mo had a way about her that was just so wise, loving and accepting. And she was the strongest single mother you could imagine – working hard to keep her daughter in the best Montessori school available. To this day, I have not come across a child better behaved or more well-mannered than Mo’s little girl was.

My favorite memory is probably road-tripping with her to D.C. to go to her mom’s 50th birthday bash. Her whole family just had this radiant, positive energy. They were some of the most genuine people I’d ever met.

Mo moved back to DC I believe after about two years, for urgent family reasons. I moved to Texas not too long after that. At some point both of us lost each other’s contact info, but she found me in 2002. And then, inexplicably, we lost touch again. I have always been the absolute worst at keeping in touch with old friends, but I always felt super jerky about losing touch with Mo.

After a few epic emails, we’ve discovered that over the last seven years we have gone down very similar paths. It’s like we’ve been living each other’s lives in a parallel universe.

The older I get, the more I realize the importance of family and close friends. I don’t know if it’s an only child thing or what, but for most of my life I never really sustained relationships of any kind, including relationships with my family. I always floated along in life with an “outta sight, outta mind” mentality and never grasped what I was losing with this attitude. Well, no more.

Mo and I have a lot of catching up to do, a lot of friendship ground to make up. Thanks, Facebook. I owe you a big one.