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All She Wanted Was A Bilingual Bookseller

When I tell stories about my friend Noodle, she sighs and says, “I can’t believe I hired you. Not just once. Twice.”

What she can’t believe is that we’re friends — still — in what has to count as the longest continuous relationship of my life. This includes my family.

Our relationship is shaped, not by love or shared interests, but by our individual need to be always right.

So, here’s the story that I think defines our relationship.

A couple of years ago, I had a dream that Noodle and I were in an horrible earthquake. In the way of dreams, there was debris everywhere. No one standing but her and I. We knew we had to get out of the wreckage. We had to find safety.

I had a Jeep. Noodle had a motorcycle.

I said, “The Jeep’s the safest way out. We can get over anything in a Jeep.”

Noodle said, “No, the motorcycle’s best. We have to take the motorcycle.”

“Jeep.”

“Motorcycle.”

We argued, in my dream, until it began to get dark. We argued through aftershocks worse than most earthquakes.

I didn’t take the Jeep and drive away. She didn’t take the motorcylce and ride off.

Neither one of us would leave until the other agreed and went our way.

“Jeep.”

“Motorcycle.”

In real life, I drive a mini-van. I put all the seats down and pretend it’s a two-seater, a sports car. My powers of self-delusion are great.

In real life, Noodle rides a motorcycle, and she rode it across the country four times in six months. Really. Here are the photos.