I don't know if anything I can write here will amount to the ever so lovely post you wrote for my 18th, but I can try my best.
The initial years of our friendship was interesting. You were probably the absolute most stubborn person I knew back in the day, in Mrs. J's class when many an argument cropped up, whether it revolved around the merits of dogs or your skipping preschool. Nevertheless, we frequented at each other's house and hid from our parents when it was time to say good night. I think, after we realized that hiding under the dining room table wasn't exactly a covert spot, my sister introduced to me and I introduced to you the excellent dark corner of her closet space, which was blocked by a number of winter clothes boxes.
I don't think we ever got punished more than we should have been for dragging out the long hours of the night... (at like, 8 pm.)
We even roped your Bobo into playing our ridiculous pretend games. Well... I suppose most of them were my ridiculous pretend games (who came up with the Little King??). You entertained my self-indulgent storylines like a truly good friend; you would be Milo during Atlantis reenactments while I would always be Kida (sorry), and I would make you act out scenarios where I would move away and you would be moping around mourning my absence.
That sounds terrible.
Well. Moving along...
You stepped into the shoes of the much-coveted role of Pluto in our third grade play "Vacation to Mars" (remember your furry white muffler? Actually I don't know if it was actually a muffler since Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire Fleur was "wearing" a muffler, I think on her head, and your muffler was like... arm sleeves or something), and later in the year I was the frog who wanted to see the tops of the trees in "Rumpus of the Rainforest."
In fourth grade we got in trouble with Mr. Lyon for saying "Yesssssssssss!" (dragging out the 's', yep) in his absence. It was strictly forbidden.
Actually I think I got the class in trouble... oops.
In fifth grade we were in separate classes, and well... many things came to a head that year. We tried to shake off a harmless girl who wanted to hang out with us by engaging in several ridiculous schemes. We trailed rose petals as a "false" path, and then hid in a janky staircase probably leading to the janitor's storage room while said girl was probably looking for us. You were ashamed. At the time, I was not.
And then later that year, I took you for granted. Because of our many inane arguments about the the behavior of seagulls and whatnot, I decided I didn't need the "unnecessary drama." You are a very persistent fellow, however, and insisted on worming your way back into my life–you dropped silly notes on my desk (with drawings of Calvin and Hobbes), brought me candies from Powell's, etc. Basically, it was something akin to Phoebe's attempt to 'cut out' Monica (in Friends).
|The dark days. Actually, you look pretty nice!|
We've changed quite a bit since elementary school, obviously, and you still love to pick arguments with me every so often because you find it fun, but it's all in a light-hearted manner. In a way, I think it kind of shows how we really were meant to be friends, and how I now realize how much you really mean to me and how glad I am that you decided I was worth it to expend all that effort.
I probably would've given up in that situation.
But then again, opposites attract. If you had been me, and had given up, we would not have spawned the brilliant "Saratoga Tales." We would not have ever found ourselves in Edith and Gladys, nor Helmut and Günter (our Navajo identities continue to escape me, unfortunately). We would never have discovered our affinity for the Swiss Alps, nor our desire to form makeshift house-elves. We would not have formulated a magnificent house plan (no stairs!!!) complete with an electric dam and a lab for Edith's animal behavioral science experiments.
Anyway... thanks for being my holly bush. I couldn't ask for a better, more enduring, more beautiful companion. I wish we could be together for each other's birthdays. Alas, we are not a train's ride away from each other as you'd hoped. I remember when I read that in the yearbook (for we had not read each other's answers to the "best friends since childhood" section prior to receiving the official final draft from the journalism department), I teared up. Like for reals. I'm not trying to be cliché or dramatic or anything, even though it really sounds like that.
You're special. Who else would let me call you every week amidst endless midterms and papers and berating professors, amongst woes of threatening Bs and scary news editors? Every time people ask me whom I've stayed in touch with back home, and I say that we try to call each other every week, I am met with an expression of impressed wonderment.
Yeah. That's us. We make long-distance work! (I will refrain from using any expletives, for your benefit.)
Thank you for many things–for being my fellow indulger of aphasia (I just spent 2 minutes Googling that word), for being a great storyteller, for coaxing out that weirdo I am meant to be, for being a buddy in floor flubbing, for showing me the glory of OPO, for keeping me grounded, for being the voice of reason and goodness (for what, 12 years of my life?), for you know... just being. You are great, and kind, and golden. I love you and your love of egg-yolk yellow and eccentric (sometimes ugly) clothing (like that pillbug jacket and the fluffy brown and pink parka that actually looks quite nice on Cherry), your ability to thunder up the stairs on all fours, your sliding down the winding banister (while I was anxiously biting my nails), your halo of crazy baby hair, your bizarre eating habits (like digging away at the center of soggy sandwich bread and then leaving a whole bunch of crumbs on my couch), and... well, the list goes on and on.
We've survived the sister code, my friend! Actually–we've beaten it! We both liked the same boy (whey-hey!), applied for some of the same colleges, got in a major tussle at one point in history, shared grades and GPAs with each other, and here we are. (I mean, just last week you were the first person I confessed my first semester grades to.)
Well, there are drunk people outside my door, on my first night back at college after Christmas break, and I hate to make excuses, but they do interrupt my sentimental trains of thought.
You are nice. Enjoy your final year as a technical teenager, my dearest :) Don't listen to Beyoncé (just this once!!!). You are irreplaceable, and my bridge over troubled water!
|I hope you will continue to be my life dance partner!|