If we have ever had a conversation, chances are I will call you “my friend.”
After we have gone somewhere together in the same vehicle, shared a drink, and spent a couple of hours together (especially if it was in the principal’s office), I likely consider you “a good friend.”
If we have been at the same slumber party, shared food, revealed secrets, borrowed clothing, or we were in the same grade of school, I consider you one of my best friends.
If you ever treated with me with malice, or tried to make me lose a job or a boyfriend, or if you have stolen from me, I still hate you.
But if you have lied to protect me; or we have been in a minor hit-and-run accident, with the runners being us; skipped school (or work) together for undisclosed shenanigans; or if we have laughed so hard that we have had to sit down on the sidewalk, I consider you an essential friend in my life and you will never get away.
Now, if we share, and keep, a secret that we vowed to take to our graves, you are no longer just a friend; you are part of my family and my soul, and I would take a bullet for you.
How many bullet friends do you have?