Match in the gas tank, boom, boom.

“Two grilled stuffed burritos, chicken, um…fiesta potatoes, and one of those burritos they show on tv,” she said, nodding to the girl at the counter.

I took a deep breath, swallowed that insane urge to burst into cackles, and immediately looked over at you. It was like our heads were connected on the same well-oiled ball bearing. You, on my left, my eyebrow curved up, wanting to make sure you heard that.

She really said that, your eyes confirmed. She wanted that burrito, but she changed everything on it, mine answered back. She doesn’t even like rice, your eyes texted back. Rice. The stuff dreams are made of.

That whole non-conversation took less than four seconds. As soon as it was over, we both huffed out whatever laughter we couldn’t swallow down, and you did that thing you do, looked down, like you were searching for your most earnest expression, and when you looked back up, you studied the menu like you were searching for something, but when I looked at you from the corner of mostly serious eyes, I knew as soon as we collected our tacos, we would resume this conversation. The one about how we’d just witnessed a hurdle, not exactly crossed, but maybe pushed over, at the tard-a-thon we call Taco Bell.

It’s a point we come back to almost every single time we hang out. It’s not the kind of conversation you’d think that two intelligent women might have. Seven words that we’ve gotten used to saying to each other. I think I say it more than you, mostly for your reaction. It’s regarding a movie that I think was the movie, that bridge that spans the age gap between you and me. That’s the real reason why it’s so important.

“Match in the gas tank, boom, boom.” Just typing that sentence, I can see the way you react to those words.

What’s Eating Gilbert Grape is a movie that we both could watch on repeat. When Gilbert says that to an Arnie who has climbed to the top of the water tower, the best part is how Arnie considers those words. He contemplates them, one index finger curled against his face. When Gilbert repeats that mantra, Arnie almost nods to himself, like he understands that is part of things, he mouths it to himself, and he starts to climb down.

It sounds simple, but sometimes when things are getting to me, it’s those words that get me to climb down from my own water tower, because I know that you’ll be waiting on the ground, your embarrassment carefully put aside, because I need you. You say that mantra, eyes on mine, and I make it down

When you have the kind of bond we do, I think like anything, sometimes you take it for granted. I sat here, listening to some Creedence, laughing about the pizza we ordered today. The order took twenty minutes, because the guy I talked to was a special case.

When he asked me for the name on the delivery ticket, I gave him your first name while you listened, and to make you laugh, I gave him the last name of one of your favorite actors. Padalecki. I even spelled it for him.

When the pizza came, I pocketed the receipt. While we ate pizza and laughed about nothing and everything, I pulled the receipt out of my pocket. Read your name, read the last name and laughed so hard that no noise came out. I just held the receipt out to you.

Papalecai, the receipt proudly proclaimed. We both laughed until we cried. “I guess he just went for it, with that spelling,” you said. He couldn’t even spell forest, I thought.

I’ve been calling you Papa Lecai, and just like our many, many inside jokes, you snort, because I wait until you’ve settled into it just enough to let your guard down, but never long enough for the novelty to wear off.

You snort laughter out, and laugh while your side shakes and your pizza balances precariously on one knee. It’s the kind of reaction that will never get old. It’s the basis of who we are, the way I can always surprise the laughter out of you, the same way you always wear my shoes when you go outside to smoke. Your feet are about half the size of mine, and when you wear my shoes you look like a five year old trying on their mothers’ heels. You wear my shoes the same way I wear those seven words. The magic words. Not because they fit, but because it’s our bridge. No matter where I am, or where you are, those words always bring us to the same place. Where it is doesn’t matter. What we do, also, doesn’t matter. The only important thing is that we’ll both be there.