Traveling with an old friend is a special treat. I see Melissa and no time has past. We're fourteen and sneaking out of the house to run around the neighborhood, giggling about boys and complaining about our history teacher. Or we're in college, making idealistic plans for our lives and sending postcards back and forth from Spain. Or fresh graduates, traipsing the streets of north east London, shoveling cupcakes in our mouths and staying out into the wee hours of the morning. But besides that, and what means more, is the shared language of people, places, things, that seamlessly weave the past with the present. The body language and facial expressions that, indecipherable to most, communicate so clearly that words are secondary.
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