There are a lot of things I never realized about my childhood. Certain smells, certain tastes, certain fabrics all trigger memories in me now that I never realized I even had before. Like the other day, when Jay and I were walking through midtown traffic and all of a sudden the air was full of the smell of dough, and before I even thought about it, I blurted out, "Duck!" And then next thing you know, we weren't walking anymore and I was trying to explain to Jay that I wasn't insane, I just thought I was in Baltimore."Why did you think you were in Baltimore?" he asked me, like these were things I should be able to explain. And he rolled his eyes and we're walking again.

But my mind's not on traffic anymore (and I'm praying that he's guiding me clear of cabs) because suddenly I really am in Baltimore, or as far as I can tell I am. And I'm standing in line at Camden Yards, trying to convince my dad that I really do need that Orioles cap -- even though it costs as much as a tank of gas -- and munching on pistachios while my sister whines to my mom. And my Dad is telling me why I should really be a Red Sox fan instead. And then I tell him that the Red Sox never win anything. And he glares, and I glare, and at the same time we agree that we hate the Yankees more than life itself, and somehow that seems to right all the wrongs in the world.

And suddenly I'm 15 and baseball's not cool anymore, but my dad is still begging for me to go with him. And I'm 15 and egotistical and all concerned with my image. Back then I thought I was right. Now, I can see the hurt behind his eyes and it kills me.

And then I'm 16 and he's teaching me to play guitar and I remember how that was the way we patched our baseball hole -- with music glue.

And I'm 16 and a horrible person. I am rebellious and intelligent and egotistical, and basically the same as every other 16 year-old on the planet. I take it out mostly on my mom, yelling at her and stomping out of the house to go smoke pot with my friends. And my mom loves my friends, and she loves me, but I am too busy being 16 to notice.

Jay and I met when I was 16, when I wandered out of a club in D.C. and just started walking around. And he was doing the same thing. And because I was a stupid teenager then, I said hello. Which, in retrospect, was actually a good idea because he's been my best friend ever since. We have some smells and tastes in common, we do.

Green apple Jolly Ranchers for his first major break-up. They were our favorite flavor, and I bought three bags and picked all the green apple ones out for him that night while he cried in my room. And I secretly hated all the watermelons, and I was secretly jealous of all his green apples, but then he'd look at me with those tear-filled eyes, and that was the first time I truly understood that he was in real pain, and that my wonderful invincible Jay could be hurt. That was a scary day.

Stale Metro air for my acceptance to college. We celebrated underground, our voices echoing off the gigantic tunnel, and then we played car-chase, which is when you jump out of the Metro cars at every stop and try to catch up to the other person without knowing which car they'll hop into. Then he took me to lunch at my favorite French restaurant downtown and paid for it all, even though he couldn't really afford it.

Strawberry Bubbleyum and Jack Daniel's for our first kiss. And our last kiss. Well, there was only one kiss, and it was more the product of the Jack Daniel's than of the bubble-gum. Our friend Lauren took a picture of it and we laughed so hard the next day we almost fell over. And then we were both groaning, clutching our heads in pain as our hangovers hit us full force, and then it was our friends' turn to laugh. Usually, when you put Jay and I in the same room, there was a lot of laughter.

Fresh daisies for when he got engaged for the first time. Scotch when the engagement fell apart.

Melted chocolate for when I got engaged for the first time. Rubbing alcohol when my engagement fell apart.

Silk tassels for the days we graduated from college.

Pinot Grigio when I got my first writing job.

Champagne when he established his law firm.

It occurs to me that we've been friends for too many years, the kind of duration that makes people hate each other. We finish each other's sentences. We date each other's friends. We live across the street from each other. We eat lunch together almost every day. We talk on the phone all the time. And we e-mail. He knows me better than I know myself. By all laws of nature, we should hate each other.

"Watch out!" Jay yells and I stop short of an oncoming cab and Jay gives me this accusing look and I smile at him sheepishly.

"I wasn't paying attention," I murmur. He shakes his head.

"One day, you're gonna close your eyes and wake up dead."

And, you know, he's probably right.