I knew it was her as I approached the coffee shop. I noticed specks of yellow, black, and white coming from a blouse, and I was certain it was my friend Cheddah.

Now, Cheddah is not her real name—just as Dyson is not my own—but these are nicknames we gave each other last time while personifying upset New York rats. Cheddah knew all about the cheese. Dyson didn’t like feeling like a vacuum picking up all the scraps.

And therefore, our nicknames were born. We embraced each other, ordered our coffee, and got to talking.

My relationship with Cheddah is a special one, and we know it. We met during our last semester of high school and, after losing touch post-graduation, we reconnected a few years ago. We were creative from the start—she was part of the school yearbook, and I was a writer with the student newspaper.

Our desire to express ourselves through any medium of art is what keeps us connected. She is my art confidant, and I go to her when I don’t know what to do creatively. I show her pieces of art that I have not shown anyone else. And I share my insecurities with her about my creative life and lack thereof.

She listens and asks questions to better understand the root of how I feel. She doesn’t tell me what to do but, in turn, puts the power back in my hands to let me decide. And the thing that always blows me away is how she reads my art as though she were reading a Tarot card—she sees beyond.

And so, after having spent four hours with her, I came home thankful to have a friend like Gigi MaGee, thankful to have a friend like Cheddah.

Oh, look at this stud! Isn’t she beautiful?!