One year ago today was the first day of "us," the beginning of "we" and "our." No one said it to our faces, so I didn't know at the time that everyone was taking bets on how long we would last. I've done it before, contemplating all the factors that could make or break a friend's relationship, but it didn't seem so cruel until the factors were weighed against me.

Physically, we don't match up. You never wear sunscreen and have the deep, California-esque tan to prove it. How'd you end up living in a Pennsylvania suburb and not on Long Beach? Then again, my freckles, which are always there but no one notices them until June, clash against the skin tones of my whole family. Neither of us quite fit. When we hold hands, though, the contrasting colors mesh nicely together. It's like a rainbow with only two colors.

When we walk, or run, or flop down on the couch, we don't match up. You move like an athlete, even when you're off the baseball field, swift and alert. (Except that one time when you walked into the stop sign.) I have trouble walking straight. I never noticed that until I kept crashing into you on the sidewalk. You could stay a little bit in front of me, so I don't smack into you, but you always position yourself between me and the road, like a shield. I appreciate that.

Our responses to problems don't match up. When you got whacked in the face with an aluminum bat and broke your nose, you just shook it off. Now it's a tiny bit crooked and the doctor said you have a deviated septum. Also, you've had a sinus infection for months. You're not going to do anything about it. I always carry a full travel-sized box of Advil wherever I go. Most of the time I have Band-Aids too, but I used up some of them last week when my heels gave me blisters. I still think you're crazy for brushing off your injuries and illnesses, but I like taking care of you, even when you insist nothing's wrong. (Sure, a 101 degree temperature is completely fine.)

So one year later, here we are. It's July, summertime, when the colors of our hands are fully on opposite ends of the spectrum. When I look at you, I see the same smile, but with more memories behind it, and the same nose, just deviated now. I think today we're going to take a walk around the neighborhood, and I'm going to try my best to walk in a straight line, and hopefully we'll run into a few of those kids who were so sure we wouldn't last. I guess they didn't realize how well we match up. Isn't it nice proving everybody wrong?