Her name allows me to create a hundred other nicknames for her though her name is beautiful. It's long though. But I like it.
Some of the nicknames have stories behind them, seeming random otherwise, and some of them are direct derivations of her name.
I hadn't ever heard of a name like hers till I met her. And I'm glad I did.
***
She's beautiful. Her black hair is short, her skin is clean and clear, and her eyes are deep, they're expressive. I like her eyes the best.
She used to have long hair, but to think of it is now is like trying to remember moments of a past life. But when she first cut her hair, it freaked me out. For a week. Two weeks, even. And then I finally got used to it.
***
She's into music. She sings well and knows how to play the keyboard. We had plans for a band, the name was set - it was so dark and dramatic, and there was even that song we'd sung for assembly, which flopped because of me.
We were songwriters too, we'd made a whole song on the word floccinaucinihilipilification which means worthless and has an overwhelmingly large number of is. We sang that song in computer class. Talk about joblessness.
***
Art wasn't really my thing. And I don't think it was hers either. Our third best friend was great at art, on the other hand. But we tried, oh we tried. There was this time we had to make a life-sized portrait of ourselves, though I don't recall if that's what it was exactly. And she? She drew a girl whose dress was made of magazine cuttings of the elements - there was fire and water and the sky and plants all in one dress. It was pretty fantastic.
***
You don't know the meaning of teased, until you get teased by her. She reduced me to tears, she and our other friend, or at least got me to write angry poems about them.
Because I was the 'polka-dot' and that made me lame and bad-weird, while she was the 'stripe', daring and the cool weird. It was like some sort of personality test with patterns.
She's saved my number as 'pichki polka dot.'
She tells me this, and she laughs.
***
When I told her what I considered my deepest secrets, it took 5 minutes outside our classroom. She listened to me, and I don't know how she felt or how she would react, but she accepted everything about me.
She told me more about herself during the breaks. We'd roam the hallways and the playground and she would tell me. Sometimes it's over email, sometimes it's on chat, or on the phone. But if there's something to tell, it will be told.
***
Football was our thing. So was running. We had a bunch of activities that we were into together. Me and her. I remember days out on the football field, the sun blazing on our necks, a lazy breeze was the only relief. We had two continuous periods of games on Fridays, and honestly, it was the best. We'd run around for no reason, imitate others, and even score self goals.
***
As a person, I think she knows me better than most. She knows me completely, all sides of me, unlike some others, which I appreciate. We've been out of contact for so long, and I really want to apologize. She tells me that she spoke about me to a group of fifth graders, and they were simply blinking. I hear this on the other end of the phone, and grin.
She's crazy. She's hyper. She's smart and talented and bindaas. She gets drunk on Coke. She's like my partner in crime.
Every fact is another reason to laugh at her, or roll my eyes at her, or agree with her, and love her.
Some of the nicknames have stories behind them, seeming random otherwise, and some of them are direct derivations of her name.
I hadn't ever heard of a name like hers till I met her. And I'm glad I did.
***
She's beautiful. Her black hair is short, her skin is clean and clear, and her eyes are deep, they're expressive. I like her eyes the best.
She used to have long hair, but to think of it is now is like trying to remember moments of a past life. But when she first cut her hair, it freaked me out. For a week. Two weeks, even. And then I finally got used to it.
***
She's into music. She sings well and knows how to play the keyboard. We had plans for a band, the name was set - it was so dark and dramatic, and there was even that song we'd sung for assembly, which flopped because of me.
We were songwriters too, we'd made a whole song on the word floccinaucinihilipilification which means worthless and has an overwhelmingly large number of is. We sang that song in computer class. Talk about joblessness.
***
Art wasn't really my thing. And I don't think it was hers either. Our third best friend was great at art, on the other hand. But we tried, oh we tried. There was this time we had to make a life-sized portrait of ourselves, though I don't recall if that's what it was exactly. And she? She drew a girl whose dress was made of magazine cuttings of the elements - there was fire and water and the sky and plants all in one dress. It was pretty fantastic.
***
You don't know the meaning of teased, until you get teased by her. She reduced me to tears, she and our other friend, or at least got me to write angry poems about them.
Because I was the 'polka-dot' and that made me lame and bad-weird, while she was the 'stripe', daring and the cool weird. It was like some sort of personality test with patterns.
She's saved my number as 'pichki polka dot.'
She tells me this, and she laughs.
***
When I told her what I considered my deepest secrets, it took 5 minutes outside our classroom. She listened to me, and I don't know how she felt or how she would react, but she accepted everything about me.
She told me more about herself during the breaks. We'd roam the hallways and the playground and she would tell me. Sometimes it's over email, sometimes it's on chat, or on the phone. But if there's something to tell, it will be told.
***
Football was our thing. So was running. We had a bunch of activities that we were into together. Me and her. I remember days out on the football field, the sun blazing on our necks, a lazy breeze was the only relief. We had two continuous periods of games on Fridays, and honestly, it was the best. We'd run around for no reason, imitate others, and even score self goals.
***
As a person, I think she knows me better than most. She knows me completely, all sides of me, unlike some others, which I appreciate. We've been out of contact for so long, and I really want to apologize. She tells me that she spoke about me to a group of fifth graders, and they were simply blinking. I hear this on the other end of the phone, and grin.
She's crazy. She's hyper. She's smart and talented and bindaas. She gets drunk on Coke. She's like my partner in crime.
Every fact is another reason to laugh at her, or roll my eyes at her, or agree with her, and love her.
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