Bringing up that long-ago walk in the snow she asked if I remembered that day and the fun and the cold and the hot chocolate. Again I said no and again she was very disappointed that I didn’t share the memory.

T

he conversation went something like this: Me: “Hello?”

“Hello Miriam?”

“Yes. Who is this?”

“Suri.”

“Suri who?”

“Suri from high school.”

“Suri I can’t believe it! Are you inNew York?”

Suri my old friend! We had graduated high school together 49 years earlier. Shortly after that she married and settled in our hometownChicago. When I married a few years later I moved to New York with my husband.

For a while Suri and I stayed in touch exchanging annual New Year’s cards updating each other on our growing families and all the goings-on of the past year. But then my fifth child was born two weeks before Rosh Hashanah and I didn’t send a card that year nor the next year when baby number six was born just after Succos. After a few years Suri also stopped sending cards. I don’t know if she was hurt or if she had also become too busy.

Though nearly half a century had gone by I could still picture high school Suri on the other end of the line. Petite bouncy and fun her light-brown hair styled in the hairdo we all had in those days — bangs and short waves framing the face.

She was always happy-go-lucky and carefree; I don’t think I ever saw her study. I can recall the lone time I caught her in deep concentration during class — she slipped me the paper she was working on: a diagram of her dream home. I remember being impressed by the enormity of the house with many many rooms and all those very straight lines.

The only times Suri had a long face were those moments of truth when we were issued report cards. Hers were filled with Cs and Ds but by the next day she was her usual sunniness.

As for me — tall thin studious and quiet — I was Suri’s polar opposite. Why did she include me in her circle of friends? I never figured it out but what fun it was to be part of her crowd.

And now a phone call after all these years?

“I’m calling from Chicago” she said. “It’s snowing — the first snowfall of the year. It reminded me of the day we walked through a few feet of snow to my house and my mom gave us hot chocolate to thaw out. Do you remember?”

I tried to recall the incident but I drew a blank. “I’m sorry I don’t remember” I said.