Along the corridors of my college dormitory there were confidences exchanged and friendships formed that we thought would last forever. Some did; some didn’t. We hadn’t accepted that sometimes we are friends only by circumstance and geography. No longer two doors down, or a knock away, not all relationships grow roots.

I lived next door to Sherri for twenty-two years; yet we never once went out for coffee together or took a walk other than between houses. But we shared a 100 foot lot; except my house was on just one quarter. She shared her dress shoes with me and her baked apples. I shared the occasional extra stick of butter. We probably had more conversations while wearing our bathrobes than we ever did clothed. If I was home sick on her day off I’d watch for her so I could pop open the side window to ask her for Extra-Strength Tylenol, a heating pad.

When I first moved in, as part of a couple without any children, Sherri’s husband was still in the Coast Guard, stationed in Florida. It was Sherri and her eight-and-a-half year old daughter that I knew years before Bruce returned to Seattle. By the time I left the block she was a grandmother and we’d retired quite a few bathrobes between us. We had been out on the cold street together the night of the hit-and-run. We had been out there for parades and garage sales, tree-planting and the chitchat of any day involving yard work. We had each other’s back and we both knew it.

Sherri worked days and her husband worked nights. Although her husband’s role in our life was huge, especially when it became just me and my daughter, I had different relationships with each. Their door and their hearts were open 24 hours a day. When I moved that whopping half-mile away Sherri and I vowed to keep up our friendship. I stay in touch with family almost 3,000 miles away; how could five blocks be so difficult?

It is difficult. Sherri can’t pop up her bedroom window to chat when I’m in the garden. I can’t hail her from my front steps. Sundays are impossible; her Monday day off is filled with errands and/or doctor’s appointments. But out of sight is not out of mind, and I know where she gets her coffee.

Sherri was a Nervous Nellie’s regular when they were in the two-story space one block south of the post office. When Jeanette Meade and Todd McCallister determined the big space was too much and relocated to the espresso stand on the porch at The Lockspot, Sherri went with them. They’ve dropped the “nervous” and go by just Nellie’s now but it’s still the place of choice for those who know that Jeanette or Todd will give them the double-shot of a Lighthouse bean exactly the way they like it.

On the first cold day the furnace wasn’t working so I decided to leave the house. Nellie’s popped into mind, even though I’d only waved at them for the last year. I pulled into one of their parking spots by the Locks and called Sherri. She had been on my mind particularly because there had been a recent house fire next to my old house. “Do you want a coffee drink?” I asked her. “I’m at Nellie’s.”

After declining we talked so long Sherri finally said, “My hair is wet and I’m not dressed but I’ll be right down.” I had not realized that when he saw me park that Todd had made me a non-fat mocha; as though it had been one day not a year since my last visit. It was still steaming in the window.

When Sherri arrived we sat in her car for an hour, drinking our coffees and talking. We’d shared tomatoes and over-the-counter medications, scary nights and scary neighbors, but we had never sat down together and had coffee, either in my car or hers. Even though whenever I knocked on their door (front or back) they let us in. Just nights earlier neighbors had knocked on their door during the house fire, as so many of us did in emergencies, and been taken in.

From the car Sherri waved at other Nellie’s regulars, some of them eating the famous toast along with coffee. Maria Ruano of Bedrock even got in the car with us for a while. That smacked more of high school than college, but it was obvious that 22 shared years don’t disappear just because an address changes. Space in the heart doesn’t change even if time management could use improvement.

After college we slowly learn when circumstances don’t arise on their own, you have to create them. It’s possible to share coffee and cinnamon toast in a car, not just a kitchen. “With winter coming, feel free to remind people we’re here,” Todd said as we finally prepared to go our separate ways. I thought about how that applies all around, even when you don’t see someone on your street, in your dorm, doesn’t mean they aren’t there, ready to meet you at Nellie’s as soon as you make the call.

Peggy Sturdivant and many other Ballard writers will be signing books Friday, December 9th from 7-8 p.m. at Secret Garden Books.