  Billy Squire sings that Christmas or whatever you celebrate is a time to say I love you. Here's one ode. Tea & Matches If you had a friend, who was in town from her intentional living community adventure, and you were sick and stuffy and she said she would bring you something Sunday (“Orange Juice, perhaps?” she said), what would you ask her? If you were me, you would ask her for tea and matches. The great thing about Andra is that she indulges my weird requests. So we drank chai tea amid candles lit by a hot pink Wendy’s Corner Café matchbook. We took a walk that night. We enjoyed each other’s company and I realized how much I miss my friend. I seem to miss people more when I’m with them.
Oddity #56 about me. She’s the friend I would hang out with in corners at high school parties, refusing to mingle with the hipper, more talkative crowd. Since then we’ve continued to be “antisocial partners in crime.” We’ve rode a Greyhound bus to Phoenix. We took Grandma’s car to Tempe without permission. On the return bus trip I made a 24-hour vow of silence. She witnessed what many don’t believe. We’ve sneaked onto a school playground to swing under the stars. We’ve met each other half way in Chattanooga, she from KC, me from NC. We write each other sporadically.
I inspect her homemade purse and handpuppets when she visits. She rifles through my CDs and refrigerator magnets. We’re comfortable in our friendship. I love her. I wish sometimes she wasn’t against capitalism and she could work and live nearby. But she’s my revolutionary friend. I’m proud of her. I want her to be happy. I want to hear more stories about neo-hippies dancing to OutKast in trailers in knit clothing. I want more impromptu visits and provisions. I want everyone to do what they believe in. Andra teaches me this everytime. 
