Best friends

By Christine Tailer
HCP columnist 

I sat on the front porch, rocking in my chair, listening to the wind chimes and the occasionally falling walnut, pawpaw and buckeye. My mind slipped back to a time, worlds away, when the sounds were so different, and we were pinball wizards, and we were young.

We lived in a small cabin that sat by the side of the road, corn fields all around. We had two dogs. Mine was an Irish setter retriever mix. Hers was a Great Dane. I drove an Oldsmobile Vista Cruiser. She drove an MG midget, and we were best friends. I loved the sight of her heading off down the road in her MG, the top down, and her big dog sitting tall in the seat beside her, the dog's ears flapping in the wind.

Saturday nights we would head into town and put our pinball skills into practice, but first we had to dress. Of course we wore jeans, but the very important question remained as to which top we would wear on this particular evening. We'd each try on several. Finally, tops mutually agreed upon, we still had to coordinate earrings, and then belts, and only then was our evening attire complete.

Just before we'd head out the door, we'd pull on our cowboy boots. I had graduated from college in the nearby town, and was working as a nurse's aide, wondering what to do with the rest of my life. She was working as the cook at the village inn. I am quite sure that we dined mostly on the amazing cheese soup she prepared there. 

Needless to say, we were far from wealthy, and so we each owned only one pair of cowboy boots, but our chosen outfits were not complete until we had pulled on our boots and made the final decision as to whether we should tuck our jeans into our boots, or leave them out. Issue resolved, we would twirl before each other in our small living room, and only then we were ready to go. We patted the dogs on their respective heads and off to town we went.

We walked confidently into the smoke-filled bar, pausing only briefly to chat with the folks we knew. We made a beeline to the two pinball machines that stood side by side up against the far wall. Games were under way. I can still hear the solid click as I placed my quarter down on the glass. Only with my quarter down, and my place in the lineup secured, would I turn to chat, though I always kept close watch on the progress of the games. When my turn came, the defeated player would step aside, and the victor would turn to greet me.

I'd slide my quarter into the slot, push the small silver tab and player No. 2 would come up. My opponent, the previous victor, would go first. Their ball seemed to float across the board forever. Deftly played flippers kept the ball in play. Gentle nudges to the bottom corners of the machine would guide it just enough so it would not fall between the bottom flippers and pass into pinball oblivion. The score rose as my opponent's ball ricochetted off the bumpers, bells ringing and lights flashing, but I was not worried. Finally, the ball passed between the bottom flippers.

I was up. I would step to the machine, pull back on the spring-loaded lever and send my first ball into play. As the ball arched toward the playing field, I would place the palms of my hands on the machine's bottom corners and lean into it for those gentle nudges that were just strong enough to make a difference in the ball's trajectory, but not enough to result in a fatal, ball ending tilt. My pinballs would fly. My score rose ever higher.

Opponent after opponent would lay their quarters down on the glass, and they would all walk away defeated. My dear friend played beside me. We'd smile at each other between games. I have no idea how or why, but we both really were pinball wizards, and we knew it, but we also knew that our friendship was special in so very many ways, pinball wizardry but one.

The years passed, almost five decades worth. We each married, bore children, and watched our babies grow. We stayed in touch, but our lives grew ever busier, and we did not visit. Then one day, as I sat rocking on the front porch, I decided to simply get in my car and drive the three hours north.

It was as though no time had passed between us. Nothing had changed. We laughed. We talked. We even slept outside so we could see the night sky. I have no idea if a pinball machine stood anywhere nearby. It didn't matter. Our memories and our lasting friendship were all we needed.

The next morning, after a perfect breakfast of homemade donuts and freshly ground coffee, I got in my car and drove the three hours back to our creek valley home. I could not help smiling. We had once been pinball wizards, but we were still the best of friends.

Christine Tailer is an attorney and former city dweller who moved several years ago, with her husband, Greg, to an off-grid farm in Ohio south-central Ohio. Visit them on the web at straightcreekvalleyfarm.com.