Colleen "Speedy" Fletcher

My friend Colleen Fletcher had been my friend for longer than I knew.

When a Colleen Fletcher messaged me on my Creative Wordery page to ask a question about some content, I fully intended to answer her. And then I didn’t. I don’t think I answered for weeks, maybe longer. Not on purpose, but because my sometimes A.D.D./ artist mind tends to jump around, causing me to drop a few juggling balls now and then.

I didn’t put all the pieces together until one fateful Saint Patty’s Day, where Colleen and my sister, Laurel, were listening to the Boise Highlanders. Colleen’s son and my sister’s husband were both a part of the bag-piping band. 

Although the music was a little too loud to be talking over, I thought I’d be courteous and say hello to my sister’s friend, who was sitting with us around the table.

“I already know you,” she told me with a grin, “We’ve met several years in a row, each time on Saint Patrick's. I’m the drummer’s mom.”

The light was starting to come on, but Colleen helped it along.

“I messaged your Wordery page, and never got a reply,” she told me, “I just thought, ‘fine’.”

“Colleen…Fletcher?” I ventured, and the bright-skinned, blue-eyed blonde nodded.

Oh, crap, I thought. Then tried to recall how long ago I’d gotten that message. Weeks. Months. Not good.

That was a few years ago, and it seems that Colleen’s into forgiving, since the owner of Wholistic Beauty Boutique has been nothing but kind to me. I’ve stopped by her shop on State Street many times, and Colleen is well aware that my favorite room there is the “pillow room”, where you can totally relax and get all ‘zen-y’ and stuff. Often I’ve been there and had jewelry or just the right-sized little journal call to me.

What I didn’t know was that Colleen has a “racy” side.

When we decided to take a test drive together in an Audi A4 convertible, I figured it would be one of those brief acceleration things, followed by laughter and the resuming of reasonable speed. Given the fact that I was doing some work at the dealership, and that the car was there on consignment, I figured this would be a cautionary venture.

“Oh, good, we’re coming up on my favorite off-ramp for its curves!” Colleen informed me, as I tested my seat belt one more time.

“I’ve always wanted to race,” she said, letting me know that she and her husband owned a Subaru WRX, not a car that’s known to be slow.

“You watch out for me, and I’m going to go for it around these curves,” she told me, then added, “Hang on!”

I did. Believe me, I did.

In the interim, I learned that Colleen had been in Hawaii, and had lived in Australia, too.

And I just thought she was the Highlander drummer’s mom who gave great facials and knew all about positive energy.

Nascar won’t know what hit it.