Stranger at the Door. Laura Abbot

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      DESPITE TYPICAL TEENAGE trials, high school was an idyllic interlude. I enjoyed my classes and, committed as I was to pleasing my parents, Daddy in particular, I excelled. That achievement was not without its price, however. I soon discovered that boys were not interested in the quality of my mind.

      I dated some, but usually other serious students, whose claim to fame lay not on the football field but in labs and at debate tournaments. Like most teens, I fantasized about being the homecoming queen, escorted to the prom by a handsome, champion athlete. Instead, my date was the aforementioned Laidslaw Grosbeak, who, at least, had grown ten inches and adopted his middle name, Barton. And yes, Twink was the queen.

      As far as what passed for romance was concerned, I lived vicariously through Twink, who knew how to flirt, lead a boy just to the point of no return, cast him aside and mysteriously remain on good terms with him. She also gave me my first view of the world beyond Springbranch. At least twice a year her family vacationed in exotic spots like New York City, London and Honolulu, scenes I could only imagine from magazines or television. Much as I wanted to see such places for myself, I was intimidated by the unfamiliar. I couldn’t envision a future that didn’t include Springbranch, a provincial outlook that hardly prepared me for what happened later.

      One snapshot from those years summarizes the two of us. We stand in caps and gowns, arms entwined. Mortarboard at a rakish angle, Twink grins triumphantly at the camera, while I face straight ahead, my mortarboard aligned in a scholarly manner, clutching my diploma protectively. “Graduation is only the beginning,” she appears to announce, whereas my demeanor screams a need to remain eternally at Springbranch High School.

      How often I have appreciated Twink’s adventurous spirit. Even considering her two divorces and years of caring for her ailing mother, she has rarely lost her optimism. I, on the other hand, am full of reservations and second thoughts, which makes this trip down memory lane both necessary and bittersweet.

      CHAPTER TWO

      Springbranch, Louisiana

      August, 1957

      TWINK AND I WERE TOGETHER every day of what was to be our last Springbranch summer. In mid-August Twink’s parents abruptly put their house on the market under suspicious circumstances. Twink acted unfazed. “After all,” she said with a toss of her head, “I’ll be back East at college. What do I care where they live?”

      But she did care. A great deal. She’d told me once that Springbranch was the only place her family had lived for more than two years. The town represented roots, and poignantly, so did my family and I.

      Not that Mother ever fully accepted Twink’s eccentricities, but Grandmama relished another rapt listener for her stories, and Daddy enjoyed it when we girls sprawled on the Oriental rug in his study and read while he worked.

      Although Twink may have appeared undaunted by change, I couldn’t even pretend to be unaffected. We were attending different colleges—she, a prestigious women’s college and I, the state university on an academic scholarship. Knowing we’d be apart even during vacations made this transition all the more unsettling. The last night before Twink left for school, Mother allowed me to sleep over at the Montgomerys’ house.

      Twink’s belongings had been boxed up, ready for the family’s move to Baltimore, and open suitcases awaited last-minute additions. Her stripped room was symbolic of change. Gentle breezes stirred the ruffled curtains at the window, and our voices echoed off the bare walls. Twink seemed determined to get through the night without sadness, but I barely held myself together. Determinedly cheerful, she recalled our meeting, high school escapades and secret crushes. It was after two when we finally turned out the light. I lay in the twin bed, staring at the leafy branches of the huge oak outside the window, choking back my pain and loss and wondering when I would ever see my friend again.

      Just as I was about to drift off, Twink spoke. “Are you awake?”

      “Yes.”

      “You’ll be all right, you know.”

      It was as if she’d read my mind, knew how apprehensive I was about going to Louisiana State University and understood how much I was going to miss her friendship. A lone tear trickled down my cheek. “It won’t be the same without you.”

      “I know.” I detected a hitch in her voice. “Here’s the thing, Izzy. Things can’t always stay the same, even if we’d like them to. Look at it this way. We’re ready for new adventures in that wonderful world out there.”

      That alien world terrified me. Yet in that moment I found myself wanting to comfort Twink, whose voice betrayed her bravado. Oddly, that made me feel better. I wasn’t the only one uncertain about the future.

      “A whole new world…but, Twink, I can’t do this unless I know we’ll always be friends, no matter what.”

      “Till we die,” she whispered.

      I echoed her words. “Till we die.”

      We were such innocents, little dreaming what changes and upheavals life would bring. But we understood the solemnity of our pledge, and we honor it still.

      Baton Rouge

      1957-1958