A Vow to Friendship at Colt State Park

It was one of those odd days to rest in my pre-teens—jam-packed with gymnastics and piano, soccer and ballet—that felt few and far between when Mom announced we were taking a day trip to see her friend. My sister Liv and I were unhappy with this announcement: after a week of scrambling around with commitments and schoolwork, our Sunday morning was precious. We felt our anchor to home tugging us back toward our sunbaked pillows and cool sheets. Unfortunately for us, Mom, and her commitment to this friend, pulled harder.

And so, we sailed down the coast. The familiar rhododendron and shy hydrangeas of Andover transitioned to squat vegetation and shingle-roofed homes. Any remaining grouchiness from the morning melted away with the salty air streaming through our windows, a tell-tale sign we had nearly reached our destination.

Quaint town-houses and charming shops lined the winding streets of Bristol, Rhode Island. Our car came to a stop outside of The Beehive Cafe, jolting Liv out of a nap. The Beehive was one of those quintessential cafes dotting coastal towns: the blackboard menu serving eccentric lattes, the house-made syrups leaning against one another in mismatched bottles, pastries piled high behind the counter, a tight seating area filled with two-tops chatting, and a woman typing away at her computer in the corner.

Mom immediately perked up at the sight of the woman, prancing over to her table. At the time, the pastries trapped behind their glass casing held my interest, but I went over beside Mom nonetheless. Mom’s friend Midori greeted me eagerly, glasses slipping from her face as she stood up to embrace me, my sister, and Mom in turn.

“So good to see you. Happy birthday! I know it’s a little late, but I saw this, and I just thought…” Mom presented a small gift bag, shyly, explaining that it could be returned, and really it wasn’t a big thing. Midori gasped at the shawl inside: turquoise and darker blues melting together on a silky, almost woolen, fabric. It was the kind of gift that quietly announced the endurance of their friendship, revealing that intimate knowledge of a person, gifting something that would immediately compliment their likeness. Midori threw the shall over her shoulder, the turquoise contrasting the reds in her hair and enunciating the flowy silhouette of her outfit. She laughed in delight asking where Mom had found such a fabric, and just like that, the two were catching up with the same giggly ferocity as a gaggle of my pre-teen friends.

Peeling away from the packed center of Bristol, townhouses gave way to long stretches of green fields and, every once in a while, the ocean would peek into view, almost conspiratorially. Two miles outside of the town center, Colt State Park sprawled before us, the acres of neat grass fields and prim paths only interrupted by the barn–a grand stone structure with a fitting copper roof.

As soon as we had secured a parking spot, Mom popped out of the car toward Midori, resuming their conversation. Liv and I followed suit, matching scones from the cafe in hand. Off the four of us went along the paved path toward the sea. 

Despite the overcast day, the Narangasset Bay sparkled before us in a near-panoramic view. Instead of the paved paths transitioning into beachy sand and then salty sea, the shore dropped off into a rocky border, big boulders lining the waterfront. Liv and I eagerly took the opportunity to teeter on the boulders, Liv—ever the older sister—nimbly leaping from rock to rock, me–lagging behind. Midori and Mom fell into step on the path ahead of us, their hoots of laughter ever so often rising above the howling wind coming in from the water.

The pair of them were picturesque, their image ready to be splashed on the cover of a literary fiction novel: the swirling gray clouds hanging above them, the choppy waves following the horizon far into the background, two women walking, twin looks of admiration and adoration in their eyes. I kept seeing glimpses of them as younger women, these roommates by happenstance that soon transformed into deep friends. Every so often, I could see their shared history glimmering between them like the sun peaking out from behind the clouds.

I recently graduated from high school, and I find myself reflecting more and more on the gifts and hurdles of female friendship. One of the greatest gifts of friendship I have found is that it represents an active commitment to showing up. After all, where familial love or romantic love can grow passive in the assumption of permanence, friendship necessitates continued dedication. As I think about Mom and Midori, walking in comfortable silence along the bay, I consider all of the effort—the scheduling and decisions and driving—that created the opportunity for a friendship that felt effortless.

I am thinking, too, about how much friendship depends on place. Yes, our memories are interwoven into particular places in a metaphorical sense, but we also choose real physical places to meet, to renew our commitment to each other. For me, my favorite part (and place) of summer is the week I spend with my friends on Cape Cod: early morning walks along the beach, heated board games on carpeted floors, and late nights cramped on the couch watching rom-coms. It would be silly not to acknowledge the privilege that goes into these weeks, the privilege of having a place to cradle our friendship, the privilege of transporting ourselves to that place. And, still, we make the active choice to find each other, each year, to carve out pockets where our friendship can breathe. 

For Mom and Midori, this day, their place was Colt State Park, its long and winding history mirroring their own. From scattered parcels of land and a town dragged into bankruptcy in 1825 to an impressive cow barn and showcase of wealth in the early 1900s to, finally, a pristine park dotted with families and bikers, Colt State Park served as a fitting backdrop for their Sunday reunion. Now that my friends and I have graduated high school we are no longer guaranteed clandestine meetings or spontaneous get-togethers. Instead our friendship hinges on joint effort, planning, places, and a generous splash of luck. When I think about that day balancing on slippery rocks, the howling wind and salty air whipping through my hair, Mom and Midori content to just walk along the shoreline together, I am reminded of friendship’s beauty that exists not in spite of the necessary dedication and communication, circumstance and commitment, but because of it.