Twenty Something

A monthly column for young adults

By Christina Capecchi

Solving a problem with Maria: The power of friendship

Growing up six miles from a cousin who was born six weeks after you offers a fertile foundation for friendship. Ours didn’t disappoint.

Maria and I attached quickly, and we publicly broadcast that bond with matching attire. Identical sun dresses. Duplicate necklaces. And twin magenta visors that Grandma decorated with puff paint. Even our names had a similar ring: Maria Louise, Christina Marie.

In spite of those saintly selections, we wanted to be bad; we saved our coins to buy candy cigarettes, flicking them in slow, dramatic puffs.

We wanted to be brave, but when we camped out in a backyard tent, a strange sound paralyzed us in fright. We screamed bloody murder and nearly sent my aunt into cardiac arrest.

Above all, we wanted to be together. That, we were.

Our parents didn’t let us watch Grease, but we adored the Sound of Music, and our viewing approaches were in sync: We fast forwarded through “Climb Every Mountain” and rewound “Sixteen, Going on Seventeen,” replaying the gazebo kiss a third time for good measure. Oh, to be 16!

Our cousins were all younger, which gave us license to be a bit bossy. Under our expert tutelage, the Capecchi cousins re-enacted “So Long, Farewell” in basements at birthday parties. As directors, Maria and I enjoyed the prerogative of casting ourselves in the prime roles, which meant we alternated as Leisel, yearning for champagne. “Yes?” “No!”

Over the years, our interests and appetites advanced along a similar arc. We played Varsity soccer against each other. We carpooled and contributed to the same teen publication. (Although, after watching Maria perform willowy solos at ballet recitals, I conceded that, in one arena, we would diverge.)

And then, before we knew it, we were both packing up and moving off to college to be noble English majors: Maria north, me, south.

We stayed in close touch. Frequent emails. Some letters. And occasional visits, when we whispered in our dorms until someone nodded off. More than ever, it seemed, there was so much to discuss. We were trying to uncover God’s will for our lives, untangling it from others’ expectations and our own fears.

We were still joyful, but life had managed to become more complicated. It was helpful to talk it through, knowing, for once, there was no need to censor raw emotion and half-formed thoughts. I knew I could solve any problem with Maria. As friends and cousins, our effortless understanding has been a steady source of comfort.

Maria began grad school right after college and then got a job. I started with a job, then moved onto grad school. When she visited me, she saw my exhaustion and validated it. If she had survived to tell her own horror stories, I knew I would, too. It was a well-timed oomph up the mountain I was climbing.

And that was the other thing: We were noticing tell-tale signs of getting older, which, experienced together, made them a little less freaky. Like that never-ending nun song – it had become inspirational.

Maria and I have searched “high and low” for the dreams we were meant to pursue. And today, we are kneeling at the entrance, inhaling deeply and thanking God.

When Maria told me she was engaged to John, we rejoiced. It was, like so many moments before, a Visitation our own, joy shared so swiftly and fully it causes the Christ within to leap, the Holy Spirit sparking an electric current.

“For at the moment the sound of your greeting reached my ears,” Elizabeth told Mary, her heart leapt for joy.

This month when we remember Mary’s life-changing news, we celebrate friendship, the bonds that keep us warm when it’s cold outside.

I will stand beside Maria, the bride, and smile: We may not be bad, but we’re two for three: brave and together.

Christina Capecchi is a freelance writer from Inver Grove Heights, Minn. E-mail her at christinacap@gmail.com.