But Paula got married and had a baby.

I married, too, and convinced my husband to move to

Dallas. For years our friendship continued even though our dreams had fallen by the wayside.
Paula became a nurse, and I a legal secretary. I wrote short stories and poems and shared them
with her, and she painted me a picture of the old barn where our thorn lay buried.

The years flew by. Then while we were both going through divorces, during the
confusion and turmoil, we lost touch. Paula moved, changed jobs, remarried, got a new name and
phone number.

I remarried and moved to Kansas City, but I didn't know how to reach Paula to tell her.
When my new husband and I bought a house, I hung her picture of our barn over my bed and
wondered if I'd ever again see her. Her parents were both dead, and my mother was becoming
senile, rarely remembering my phone number or address. Short of hiring a detective, I didn't
know how I would ever find my friend again.

Often I looked at the picture, thought of my friend and wondered if I'd ever see her again.

But behind the scenes, the magic spell of that thorn was working. Our childish sacrifices
of prized possessions must have touched some angel's heart.

Several years later I got a phone call and heard a familiar voice.

"Do you know who this is?"

Of course I knew. I cried. She cried.

She told me that she'd called my mother twice and been given wrong phone numbers both
times. She'd almost given up, but decided to try one more time...and caught my mother in a rare
moment of lucidity.

Now Paula's back in Oklahoma, and I live in Missouri. We see each other every summer
and call each other regularly.
 During the years we'd lost touch, she had another, unexpected, child...a girl, named after
me.

A girl who calls me "Aunt."