Walk Home Together

I met Mandy in college when we pledged the same sorority. She thrived in that high energy, chaotic environment. She became an officer and a very “involved” member. I was the total opposite, with a glitchy social battery and introvert tendencies. Mandy had tons of friends and seemed to have a connection with everyone. I didn’t know her well at first but I knew she was special. 

The memory that stands out the most from freshman year was when she drove her grandmother’s very old, very long, very white Cadillac sedan second semester and she would pull right up to the front of whatever party, blaring the horn and blasting KC and the Sunshine Band. She was the party. No shrinking violet, that girl.

Fast forward to our junior year. I was living in a house on Dean Road with two other girls, both of whom were also close friends of hers. She came around a lot, and we became better friends. She was there when I very slowly came to the realization that my closest friend and my boyfriend of six years were carrying on behind my back. It was every bit as awful as it sounds. I lost myself for a while there. 

After a couple of months I think Mandy decided to take me on as a project. 

We rode around town after class, getting slushies and tots at Sonic. She set me up on a couple of awkward but sweet dates. But mainly, she made me laugh hysterically like it was her job. She was absolutely hilarious. I think she had decided it was her job, to pick me up, dust me off and get me laughing again. I tagged along a few times when she went home to Selma and realized she came by it naturally; her family is just as open and funny and supportive as she was.

But the best thing she did, for me anyway, was set me up on my last first date. 

That summer I had moved to Gulf Shores with some other girls to wait tables and have a fun little hiatus before senior year. I had barely started my job when she called. 

“You need to ask off work and get up here. You have a date in this weekend. He’s The One,” she said. 

I’m not even kidding; she was completely serious. I told her thanks but no thanks. I had zero interest in anything serious that summer as far as boys were concerned. She laughed and said “Friday!” and hung up. 

So of course I went. I was beyond nervous; she had built this guy up so much I was freaking out. She handed me a beer when I was in the shower and told me to get over it. She was so sure, just absolutely positive. And so that night I put on my skort from the Gap and my Brighton crossbody and walked out the door to meet Will Rice.

Obviously she was right. Instant chemistry. Of course, the Long Island Teas (!), his Wranglers and his clear, earnest blue eyes helped. What can I say? She was an expert at figuring out what you needed when you didn’t even know yourself. We’ve been married for twenty seven years. 

I wouldn’t say we lost touch exactly, but over the next few years we drifted into full on adulthood. Will and I eventually moved to Tennessee and she stayed in Alabama. We didn’t see each other much but we kept up as best we could between jobs and kids and grownup responsibilities. She started painting in her dining room and over time turned her whimsical art into a million dollar business. I was so proud of her. We all were. She was on top of the world. Three amazing kids and a beautiful home. A thousand friends. But. 

Somewhere along the way, I don’t know exactly, but Mandy got lost. That’s the only way I know to describe it. Bad things upon bad things upon bad things piled up around her. She was hard to get through to. There was a wall there that nobody seemed to be able to breach. Her light, her effervescence, was still there but somehow diminished. She was brittle and exhausted. Definitely not the carefree funny girl in the long white Cadillac. 

I didn’t know how hard she was struggling until she was gone. 

I don’t want to dwell on it. I can’t. But I know she wouldn’t have made that choice unless she saw no other path to peace. 

Her last chapter does not define her. There was so, so much more. 

Mandy was a force. She was a multitalented artist and businesswoman. She was witty and sarcastic and smart-assy and silly. She was beautiful too, I almost forgot to say that. Her huge brown eyes and jet black hair were striking and distinctive, but it was her heart that made her special. She loved us all with her actions. She made things happen. She made my family, our life, happen. 

Mandy was incredibly gifted in so many ways, especially at putting people together…and putting some of us back together. She was every bit a true artist in that way too. 

No matter how long or short our time happens to be, bold actions of love and kindness reverberate for decades and more, long after we are gone. That’s the only legacy that’s truly meaningful. And that was hers. In spades.