Friendship Unlimited.

Some friendships are fleeting and based on such things as convenience, geography, social class or occupation. Others are unlikely and last a lifetime. I was a gawky 14 -year old when I met Nan. Ours was a friendship that was to be a source of surprise to many yet greatly rewarding.

Father was seldom home. Once, during a spelling bee my fourth- grade teacher smiled confidently at me as she asked the class to spell the word 'expatriate'. My childhood memories of him are sketchy. There are albums filled with photographs of him squinting in the Middle Eastern sun, his face leathery and his hands deeply tanned. An assortment of exotic ornaments cluttered the downstairs living room. We had grown accustomed to his frequent absences or so I thought. Or perhaps a little tired. One year Mother decided she had absolutely had enough. She insisted on winding down our house on the hill and making the tortuous journey to the Emirates. I had assumed we would be a threesome but a plethora of objections presented themselves, the volatile nature of the oil region, finding suitable schooling, my young adolescence and so on. My private thoughts were that my parents wanted some time alone. In any case Uncle John and his wife were happy to put up with me, their own children having flown the nest. It was to be the year that ushered in my friendship with Nan. 

The smells were wafting from the oven through the screen door to where I reclined on the front stoop. It was nearly suppertime. The evening's stillness was abruptly shattered. Somewhere between netherland and consciousness a tingling sensation had jerked me back to reality. Barely in time too as the errant motorbike careened recklessly towards me. Some guardian angel must have lent me a pair of wings. I leapt to safety, my heart pounding in my ears. Tires screeched and the acrid odour of rubber on hot asphalt pavement permeated. All of sixty seconds passed as I turned. My jaw dropped and the blistering tongue- lashing hovering on my lips dried up. A thin wisp of a rider emerged, laughing apologetically. Perky, a jaunty little cap perched to one side with a merry twinkle in her eye, she looked only a little older than Aunt Mata.

As she lived only two doors away, we went for a quick ride round the block before supper. That evening, I pestered my aunt and uncle for everything they knew about her. It turned out my terrorist on wheels was a bubbly forty- something, very much a grandmother and a well known feature in the neighborhood. The house shook with laughter as her many colourful escapades were recounted. All bona- fide grandmothers were grey -headed, cosy and round -cheeked, I insisted. Uncle John chuckled and said something over my head about young families and rabbits.

Nan and I soon became inseparable. Precious few hours were spent with my aunt and uncle. For the most part I was firmly under Nan's domain. People commented what an odd pair we were. What could we possibly be chatting so animatedly about? I can still see us in my mind's eye, the tall gangly kid towering over the tiny lady. Whatever anyone thought, our friendship had a magical quality to it. Nan's infectious laugh drew me out, any awkwardness dissipated in her presence. There were those hours of shared confidences over root beer in her daughter's kitchen. No topic was off-limits even though our conversations were occasionally interrupted by squalling children. There was much time spent scouring antique shops and poring over old maps. The townsfolk shook their heads in dismay as we tore through on her vintage Harley. My father may have been the one who travelled the world but it was Nan who unearthed my love for buried treasures. To no great surprise I would later pursue the field of archeology. This however was still eons away. All that mattered then was the blossoming of what would be an unconventional friendship. That year passed quickly in a blur but subsequent summers were spent at Uncle John's. Unquestionably I had the most fun with Nan. 

We remained close despite the gulf in age and the difference in gender. My mother did finally get to meet her.. It had long been a desire of hers to know this older woman who welded such a grip on her Jeremy. She returned home with a wry smile on her face, and a spring in her step, going on and on about free spirits. My mates on the other hand were baffled. It was one thing to be the nice, polite young man, it was another to have an old lady as your favourite pal. No one however could take me for a mama's boy so what wasn't quite understood was accepted. 

Ours was a friendship unlimited, spanning a host of girlfriends, the difficult times during my parents eventual divorce and my college years. As a mature adult, I shared her pain over a dishonest son -in-law falling into debt. She tried tears of joy at my wedding. Jan and I made the 8- hour flight to be at her seventieth birthday. She welcomed us with open arms, the same familiar mischievous gleam, though this time with a cane.

Ageing adults could sometimes be bitter and cynical. Not Nan! Not when arthritis prevented her from riding her much loved bike, not with the loss of a family business. My friend remained irreverent amidst tough times. She taught me a whole lot about courage. Some of her own relatives thought her opinionated, over- the - top, flighty. I thought her to be rock- solid. The best lesson I learnt from Nan was to pursue life unapologetically, to be true to myself and face the future with hope.

Looking back, I pondered the circumstances that conspired to bring us together. Why did Nan hold me dear? Why did we bond so tightly? She certainly had an abundance of people in her world to choose from. The answers remain as elusive as wisps of smoke. 

With the passage of time, there've been other deep and meaningful friendships, but few for which I've been as grateful.