Trading Lunches

I'm in grade school, maybe 5th or 6th grade. My best friend is Tandy Campbell. Her mother packs in her brown bag lunch the most delicious-looking turkey, mayo, lettuce, and tomato half-sandwich, which I envy her for and want--that is until I get the nerve up to ask her if she wants to trade her sandwich for mine. My sandwich is the same every day: peanut butter and jam. There is always too much peanut butter and my sandwich sticks to the roof of my mouth. Tandy agrees one day to trade her luscious turkey sandwich half for my  peanut butter and  Hawaiian Punch (Yes! There really was a Hawaiian Punch flavored jam!) sandwich. I have no idea why, but after this, she lets me coerce her into the trade just about daily even though it seems she really doesn't want to.

On a number of weekend days I am asked to visit Tandy's house and her mother makes the same divine half-sandwiches for lunch and serves them to us with a bowl of steaming Campbell's Chicken Noodle Soup. I think her mother is the best mother alive. We listen to her brother's  Bread  and Cream albums (on 33 rpm vinyl).

Tandy once got grossed out by the way a banana looked cut in half and refused to eat it. To this day I have no idea what is so repulsive about a banana's innards.

I  often think of my friend Tandy, with her mousey round glasses and long, straight brown hair. I wonder if she remembers me.

Love,
~Mama