I still have my school friends who are actually friends. It's nice that they don't think much about my singing career. They think it is cool, and they are happy for me, but they don't really bother me about it. To them, I'm still just the schoolgirl from next door.
Hopefully when you see the movie, Maybe you don't have the Orlando in your life, but you know that guy. He goes to church. He's down the street. He's one of the boys at the schoolyard. They exist.
But my miracle was different. My miracle was this: out of all the houses in all the subdivisions in all of Florida, I ended up living next door to Margo Roth Spiegelman.
People know they have seen me somewhere, but they don't know where. They think I'm their next-door neighbor.
I was the kid next door's imaginary friend.
I'm mourning with the rest of the world for the talented, gorgeous, funny, intelligent John Forsythe but my heart is broken for the loss of my dear, dear friend and neighbor. I will miss him terribly.
The kinds of good friends I have are people who are perfectly willing to have me say I'll see them in six months, and live right next door.
