You know how sometimes having a conversation with someone is like playing catch with a bowling ball? You cast desperately about, and land upon something to say. You laboriously launch it their way, and then they give a one-word answer and let that bowling ball hit the floor with a resounding thwunk. Awkward silence ensues, and then one of you figures out something else to say, strains to lift that ball back up, and then thwunk. Lather, rinse, repeat.

Conversations with my brother-in-law are like this. A lot of hard work with no real outcome, and the constant risk of squished toes and weird bruises.

Last night, my friend Molly called me. We'd been playing phone tag since the post I wrote a few weeks ago, after which I sent her an email and then we just never seemed to catch each other at a good time.

We hadn't connected for over two years, and even though I was pretty sure it wouldn't be awkward or soulless, there's always that whispering little worry in the back of my mind. What if she's gone all mainstream and Donna Reed? What if I had? What if she's holding some unknown grudge for something I hadn't realized I'd done? What if she annoys me? What if she's just not Molly somehow? What if I'm just not Kate?

It took about 4 seconds for those fears to be evaporated like the idiotic and impossible delusions they were. Molly and I just have something special and tight and complete. Time and distance doesn't seem all that relevant.

We talked for 106:48, according to my cell phone. It was just so... right. So smooth, and comfortable, and fun. She sounds good, really happy and healthy and just off-the-wall enough to still be Molly. It felt so right, like a piece of myself that I didn't even realize was missing had suddenly clicked back into place.

Not a bowling ball in sight.