Serendipity broke my brain but I'm too ecstatic to notice

No, not the Stephen Cosgrove books.

Today has been the best and most bizarre day I've had in a very long time. It's a bit of a long story and requires some background:

When my family was living in the Yukon, I had a hell of a time with friends. In the first couple years I was there, there were exactly two kids who would give me the time of day, one of whom moved away herself practically immediately. In the summer between seventh and eighth grades, the second, who had become a good friend by that time, was forcibly hauled off to a remote part of BC.

That was a pretty crappy summer.

School started, sans Erin. It was unpleasant, for reasons that would digress from the tale at hand.

There was a new person in classes with me that fall, though it took me a few weeks to realise it through my own personal angst (and, let's face it, the novels I read at every concievable moment not involving taking notes). I can't recall how it started, but before too much longer we had not only found one another amicable company but had a great deal in common as well (we bonded over Star Trek and discussed time travel at length, as I recall).

Thus, I met my first best friend.

Fast forward three years. The territorial government bought out the operations of the utility company my dad worked for and my family was consequently forced to move back to Alberta. Her family got a fortuitous transfer to the same area six months later, but the damage was done. By the time a year had gone by, we had drifted. It didn't help that we lived on entirely the opposite sides of Edmonton, nor that our mothers developed philosophical differences.

We haven't seen each other since the both of us were in first year university, six years ago.

Today, she walked into the store I work at with a former co-worker and current friend of mine. They're dating.

We still get along fantastically. I've just spent a large chunk of the evening catching up with her.

I'm also very amused that the book I'd been holding on to for years on the off chance I'd be able to return it to her is actually not something she's ever read and is something she was instructed to give to me by her mother (another semi-long story).

So, contact has been resumed with someone sorely missed. I aim not to let history repeat itself.