I have this friend. Her name is A. and we have known each other for more than ten years now. It so happened that we started studying the same thing - linguistics - in Tartu uni, two rather shy just-out-of-highschool girls. She says it was her who came and sat next to me in a Latin class one day. I myself have forgotten how the friendship took off.

But off it took, as unexpected as it might have seemed. We were different, she liked piercings and leather boots and mini skirts, I, uhmm, didn't. I came from a family as Christian as they can get, she came from a completely religion free background. But a bond was formed and over the years it only grew stronger. I remember standing on a particular street corner for endless hours after our classes, chatting about life (we used to joke that one day when both of us were be A-listers someone from the city council would decide to put a nice plate on the wall of that house in front of which we always talked, saying that right here on this spot A. and M. would always have their post-class conversations). We mostly discussed her life as she managed to make hers terribly complicated and I never seemed to be able to make mine complicated enough (or complicated enough to be worth mentioning). But we also had many things in common, not the least of which was the ability and willingness to study hard. When we both earned distinction for our MA degree, we were happy and proud. The professors referred to us as the top of the crop, and occasionally took us more seriously than some other students. We were young and beautiful, but what's more, life was young and beautiful.

But then. I remember how terrified I was when I first called her after her father had died of a sudden heart attack for I knew not what to say. And I remember that hers was the only phone call I accepted the day my mum died, the rest I ignored. I remember so clearly how she cried on the other end of the line and how I didn't, because I was in a state of shock. Life was no longer young.

She did what was expected of both of us - she continued her studies right after we graduated while I abandoned the ship and the career that was waiting for me. As I moved to England, we saw each other a lot less than we had used to. But every time I went to Tartu I tried to catch her and have lunch together with her. And in this respect, nothing has changed - I still call her each time I'm there. We have swapped the street corner for more comfortable cafe sofas but the hours fly by just as fast as they used to back in out street corner days.

And today I received a nice big package from the mailman. It was a signed copy of her doctoral dissertation, straight from the press. I was so happy for her and her accomplishment. And then I opened it and read the the ending bit of her preface:

I might have shed a tear.

Congratulations, A., my dearest friend!