。　We　shared　things　about　our　lives。　I　told　her　about　my　schooling　and　growing　up。　She　told　me　that　she　had　worked　for　years　for　an　insurance　pany。　She　never　mentioned　family；　and　I　did　not　ask。

We　spoke　of　authors　we　both　had　read；　and　it　was　easy　to　tell　that　books　are　a　great　love　of　hers。

I　have　thought　about　her　often　over　the　years　and　how　she　struggled　in　a　society　that　places　an　incredible　premium　on　looks；　class；　wealth　and　all　the　other　fineries　of　life。　She　suffered　from　a　disfigurement　that　cannot　be　made　to　look　attractive。　I　knew　that　her　condition　hurt　her　deeply。

Would　her　life　have　been　different　had　she　been　pretty？　Chances　are　it　would　have。　And　yet　there　were　a　sensitivity　and　a　beauty　to　her　that　had　nothing　to　do　with　looks。　She　was　one　to　be　listened　to；　whose　words　were　so　easy　to　take　to　heart。　Her　words　came　from　a　wounded　but　loving　heart；　very　much　like　all　hearts；　but　she　had　more　of　a　need　to　be　aware　of　it；　to　live　with　it　and　learn　from　it。　She　possessed　a　fine…tuned　sense　of　beauty。　Her　only　fear　in　life　was　the　loss　of　a　friend。

How　long　does　it　take　most　of　us　to　reach　that　level　of　human　growth；　if　we　ever　get　there？　We　get　so　consumed　and　diminished；　worrying　about　all　the　things　that　need　improving；　we　can　easily　forget　to　cherish　those　things　that　last。　Friendship；　so　rare　and　so　good；　just　needs　our　care—maybe　even　the　simple　gesture　of　writing　a　little　note　now　and　then；　or　the　dropping　of　some　beautiful　word