My first memory of my pal, Annie Hurst Howington, is her coming in for a costume fitting for an ill-advised Activities Council activity. It may have involved The old Spori building, a potato bar, and unattractive 1920s dresses.
However, this was not an impression.
My first real memory of her is at Wendy's, sitting across a booth from me, in the sunlight on a Thursday afternoon in the middle of a freezing Rexburg winter.
My strongest first memory of her is Film Festival 2003(?). We had been friends for years at this point, but it's a powerful memory.
We had been up ALL NIGHT; Annie editing her opus, Dirk's Big Date, me, awake as moral support.
Morning came, and I met her in the parking lot of our house, she was in the driver's seat of her tiny SUV, Timmy. She looked showered and changed, but tired and wary. I felt showered and changed, too, but also punchy, and said, "It's shaping up to be a helluva day".
Annie laughed, and as we drove away, I felt, for a moment, the wide, epic, glorious possibility of our youth and friendship.