My job and my pleasure.

I just got home from Vic's house a few minutes ago. It's 2 a.m. I left her house at 11 p.m. It should've taken me 45 minutes to an hour.

But I couldn't go home. I created new errands to run, new things to buy. I wanted to change my mood. I wanted to be someplace neutral. I ended up at the Wal-mart Supercenter.

Anyway.

When I got to Vic's house at 9:30, she was surprised to see me because I hadn't called. She seemed happy to see me, which made me happy because she'd told me not to come. I sat on the floor next to her as soon as I walked in and greeted everyone. When she tried to get me away from her cat and away from her feet, citing my allergies as the reason, I wouldn't leave Vic's side. I told her that I already had a cold this week, so I wouldn't notice my own cat allergy. I wanted to be with her. As her friend, it was my job and my pleasure to do it.

I played cards with the family (including Vic's nephew, whom I've known over 11 years), and I had some of this really rich chocolate cake that someone else had dropped off. Other people dropped off a platter of cold cuts, a platter of sandwich bread and some cut vegetables. Vic said that I was one of their many guests that day and that her ex-husband had been there a half hour before.

She talked about taking her nephew to get his haircut tomorrow, and I asked her if she needed to buy a dress. I thought I might be able to help out before Saturday because I doubt she'll want to wear anything that she'll ever wear again.

She told me it had been one of the weirdest days of her life.

I hugged her, then told her that the hug was actually from my own mother. Later, I said, "Oh, Kacoon wanted me to give you one of those, too." My own hug came as I was walking out the door, and it was the longest, warmest one that I gave her. But I fear it wasn't long enough, partly because I was trying to determine where to send flowers. The service is on Saturday.

She, who had told me that I didn't need to come over, said to me softly, "Thank you." And I left.

Writing that, I feel silly. This isn't about me doing something nice. I mean, I did something nice. But I did it easily and readily because I love her. I love every inch of her. I love her heart, her mind, her soul. I love how difficult she is, how difficult she tries to be. I love how stubborn she can be, and I love how silent she gets when she's angry. I love how we sometimes don't talk for months, but she and I both understand that our friendship has an inevitability. Every road eventually leads back to us.

She's worried about her mother, Donna. I'm worried, too. The woman seemed sorta shell-shocked, walking around not knowing what to do with herself in between the phone calls and the visitors. The TV set was on some silly show that no one was watching. Everyone just zoned out.

I felt weird having some focus, talking about certain memories and laughing at the nephew's jokes. I smiled at Donna. She smiled back. I didn't really talk to her. I told her that I'd see her on Saturday. Then, I tried to ask where to send the flowers, without actually asking where to send the flowers, but I felt uncomfortable talking too many details.

Vic seemed to be holding up, though it was clear that she'd been crying. I acted like I didn't notice it. I just sorta let her go about those small tasks we were doing. She won the card game. She gave me back books that she'd borrowed from me months ago, and I asked her once again about a missing book, which I don't really care if she ever finds. It's what we talk about. It's got its own rhythm, its own cause-and-effect. We return to pattern because we can.

One day, I'll need her, and I pray she'll be there. There was never a possibility that I wouldn't have given her a hug on a day like today.

Those of us in the living room, playing a game or pretending to watch TV, commented at times about how much space the room seemed to have in it. I asked Vic when they'd rearranged the furniture. Donna asked her if something was missing.

The long coffee table was gone, for one thing. But the room had other empty space in it, and we all knew what was missing.