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Meredith’s Musings: Friday Night Supper Club: A Girl Simply Can’t Say It Enough

By Taylor Collins
In Meredith's Musings
Aug 1st, 2016
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MeredithsMusings

article by Meredith McKinnie

I have a standing reservation every Friday night. It’s Friday Night Supper Club. And yes, the name is original. We meet on Friday; we have supper, and we’re an elusive club; just try breaking in. These people matter enough for me to reserve one day out of every seven just for them. And in turn, they deem me worthy of inclusion. It’s more than an honor; it’s a religion of sorts. We laugh, we gossip, we judge, we cackle, we cry, we console, we complete each other in a way many don’t understand. But you don’t have to; it’s our thing. We’re that overjoyed, loud, buoyant group in the corner, who at first annoys you, but eventually our flagrant joy sucks you in. You begin to wish you were dining at our table.

In our circle exists a warmth of togetherness. These are my people, and I’m lucky to call them mine. We’re all unique, like that perfect cast of the 10 year plus running TV show. We’re all different, but together we make more sense. We don’t fear each other. Hard truths are commonplace. Hugs are essential. This is my thank you to them.

Jess is a self-assured, tiny southern firecracker, one who openly admits her faults, embraces change, and seeks improvement. She’s fearless, opinionated, and has a saturated southern twang that lubricates even the most cutting statements. She doesn’t just dress fashionably; she is fashionable, not just her clothes, but her life, all themed Jessica. Her store is her vision, her sweat, her soul on display. She takes profound pride in her work, her style, her perception. Just being in her circle is a Jess nod of approval, as if saying, “You will enrich my life without damaging it beyond repair. I welcome your little version of crazy into my bubble.” I’m grateful for that nod…and moreso for her.

Bry has no idea how genuine and warm he is. In times of heartache, he is comfort, warmth, he feels like home. And I can almost see his scrunched up face at that statement. While he maintains a hard exterior to strangers, as if forcing people to prove themselves, to those he loves, those of us lucky enough to get in, he cares deeply, and shares our hurt and emotion. Bry’s one of those that feels with you, not for you. He’s raw in a way many of us wish we could be. Bry makes moments funny or serious, that make you laugh down deep in your gut, the genuine enjoyment radiating from the core. He has the ability to make the mundane better, life more tolerable. He’s consistent, and with age, I’ve come to value that the most in my friends. He’s always Bryan, and he has absolutely no idea how loved and adored he is. And if you told him, he’d doubt you. He’s often the period at the end of our sentences, the closer, the common tie between us all. He is the original thread, and we are a unit because of him.

Travis is what I like to call perfectly timed perfection. His appearances may have been sporadic, but his wit and humor and uplifting nature is consistent, despite the distance. He just fits in, the guy you want at the party. And if he doesn’t at first, he makes his way in. He’s a pioneer of sorts. People gravitate to him, and he is welcoming. He makes people think in a precise and affecting manner rarely seen. He does so by reaching into your soul and touching a small piece, like a hug from an unsuspecting source. He’s the hug that turns into a pick up, and then a cradle, and then he’s running with you across a field. He’s the ride at the carnival you ride again and again because you can’t get enough. I simply can’t say enough about Travis.

Mo is class, sophistication, elegance, while still being down to earth, the type that can make dirt sparkle, not only timeless, but ageless as well. Should anyone hurt her, you want to physically hurt that person, that type of friend. She doesn’t need protecting, but your instincts kick in. She’s that good and kind. She’s the peak, the point of reference, the glue that keeps us all together. She puts the “Mo” in Montana, and she doesn’t even live there anymore. She can dress up a room and bring a conversation down to surface level, all with an ease of familiarity she seems to reserve for everyone. She’s open, she’s easy, in a Sunday morning kind of way. I call her my cornerstone, my conscience. She has this subtle way of giving advice without telling you what to do. She reminds me of what’s good in the world, and pure. And should you hurt her, I’ll bury you. I just can’t help myself.

Jess, Bry, Travis and Mo are the other loves in my life. I have a partner. I have a biological family. These people are my chosen family, the siblings who enable me to breathe, keep me grounded. They are my therapy, my yoga, my namaste. Friday comes around again tomorrow. And for that, for them, I give thanks.

 

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