They were my tormentors, my best friends, my classmates, and will forever be my family.
Mélanie and Mélissa (twins… can’t ya tell?) are my age, and Marc is one year younger. My mother babysat all three of them at our home after school for too many years to count. We were as close as cousins could get. They teased the hell out of me when I was younger, but now I know that’s because they loved me so much. Right? RIGHT!?
Marc and I would play “house” in the basement (not as dirty as it sounds.)
Mom would get out her “tickle trunk” of costumes and us girls would do a fashion show.
We worked with our Uncle Michel to create detailed choreography (ahem) for live musical performances during family gatherings. (The highlight in my mind was Bryan Adams’s Everywhere You Go the Kids Wanna Rock for Mother’s Day one year.)
We’d have sleepovers at their place and sneak out in the middle of the night to go to the school yard… a whole half a block away. (Sorry Tante Hélène.)
We’d walk around the library together, that is until one of us (hardly ever me) got a boyfriend and found a quieter hallway elsewhere. (Only Plantagenet grads would know what I mean about the library.)
We’d share gossip and be a shoulder to cry on during the long bus rides to and from school.
They supported and comforted me through recent crazy times.
We spent so much of our childhood and teens together… and then we graduated from high school. All three of them went on to marry amazing people and have a wackload of beautiful children. We made new friends. We lived in different cities. We grew apart.
Still, I will never forget how our friendship helped shaped who I am today. Growing up, they were the siblings I never had. And when we do get the chance to see each other, there’s a certain soothing feeling that comes over me.
Like I’m coming home again.