Tonight I met one of my best friends...for the first time.

Dempsey and I have known each other for nearly five years. Those five years mark an evolution of our friendship. We began as friends. Then, we moved into the realm of more than friends. Mostly due to my insecurities and bad decision making, that part of our relationship disintegrated. Thankfully, though, we were able to salvage our friendship and remain close, though we had never met face to face. Until tonight.

We had planned meeting in the past. When we were “together,” our plan was to meet with a group of friends in Dallas. That didn’t happen. Later, we planned to meet when I would make my way to the West Coast. That didn’t happen. He called me two days ago, saying he had a layover at the local airport and could I play guide for him? Excitedly, I said yes.

And then I began to think, analyze, and agonize because, well, it’s *me*.

He and I talk every day, or nearly every day. I tell him things I’ve told no one else. He is the only “boyfriend” with whom I’ve ever been able to retain a friendship. He kicks my ass when it needs it and offers me sympathy and kudos just as often. He challenges my opinions and thoughts and never lets me get away with hypocrisy. He means more to me than I can ever tell him.

And I was utterly terrified to meet him face to face after all this time.

We joked about my nervousness. I told him I would vomit on him; he told me I wasn’t allowed. He said I shouldn’t worry. I laughed at him, knowing he understood exactly what I was worried about. That’s the thing about Dempsey...he gets me. He understands my demons. He may think I’m insane for some of them, but he does understand, without me having to say a word.

The demons were in full effect tonight.

I sat in the terminal of the airport, palms sweating, praying my newly shorn hair didn’t look *too* newly shorn and that my outfit was flattering enough, waiting for his plane to land. I went to the bathroom twice. I checked my makeup (!) cursing the perpetual shine that graces my face, which no amount of Max Factor will conceal. I paced. I willed my stomach to stop roiling. I begged the condor sized butterflies beating their wings in my abdomen to just fucking stop already. I wrote in my paper journal, hands shaking, making my writing look like a schizophrenic Bell’s palsy victim. Then I heard his plane announced.

I took a deep breath and stood up, considered bolting for the parking lot and dismissed the thought quickly, knowing he’d be livid if I gave into the demons. So, I hid behind a giant pillar, waiting for him to disembark, scanning the emerging crowd for a glimpse of him.

When I saw him, I smiled. The butterflies finally quieted. I no longer needed a paper bag to breath into. I didn’t care if my forehead blinded him. I didn’t care if my hair looked like it lost a battle with a runaway weed whacker. I didn’t care if my outfit screamed provincial Midwesterner. He was Dempsey. And I shouldn’t have worried.

He hugged me when we said hello. He immediately put me to ease. His sense of humour is something I’ve always admired and loved about him. Getting the full brunt of it in person was a treat, indeed. We sat at his gate, making blistering commentary on passersby until his next flight was called. I giggled and laughed with and at him for what I know to be entirely too short a time. He hugged me goodbye and I walked away, smiling.

I could write reams about Dempsey, all of which would make his ego swell to mythic proportions. Suffice it to say, I’m blessed to have a friend such as him.

Now, we just need to go have that beer together.