Not that Christy was the most awesomest of friends. I mean, for starters, she was fairly stupid, in that she couldn't do simple math in her head, and she didn't believe me that time I told her that "island" had an "s" in it. She went and asked, you guessed it, Mrs. Murphy, who of course shamed Christy in front of the whole class for not knowing this essential bit of knowledge. I tried to talk Christy out of going to Mrs. Murphy. I told Christy that I was right because I was much smarter than her. To prove this, I showed her that I knew what 8+4 was without counting on my fingers.
She was not convinced.
Mrs. Murphy used to go around the classroom with flashcards and whenever it was Christy's turn to add 8+4 I used to just cringe, because besides hating on foul-mouthed 8-year-olds, Mrs. Murphy also hated on stupid people. A lot. This was during my "I totally believe I'm psychic" phase, so I used to think "12! The answer is 12!!!" in Christy's direction, but apparently Christy was also too cognitively impaired to receive my flashes of mental telepathy. Mrs. Murphy would just stand there, towering over Christy with that freaking flash card until Christy would cry. Then Mrs. Murphy would smile and move on.
Oh, by the way, I was recently informed that Mrs. Murphy is STILL ALIVE!!!!
In all fairness to Christy, she never was the same after she fell headfirst off the monkey bars that day in the trailer court park. Christy was hanging upside-down by her knees and she was all like, "Look at me! Look at ME!" And then all of a sudden, her knees must have given out because she fell about 10 feet and totally head-butted the ground with the top of her head, which couldn't have been good. I think she may have sustained a concussion because as we were all walking her home, supporting her generous frame with our frail bodies, she began rambling nonsense. Something about flying monkeys and tater tots. Then when I handed her one of her flip-flops that had fallen off during her tumble, she threw it at me.
Plus, once I told Christy that Purina Cat Chow tasted just like La Choy chow mein noodles and then I told her to eat some and she did and then she threw up. And I wasn't lying. I used to eat Kitty Kat's cat chow all the time, and it did taste like La Choy chow mein noodles. My issue was that just because I told Christy to eat cat food, she did. Christy had no critical thinking processes, none at all, and the head injury couldn't have helped. She also ate rock salt because I told her to. In case you're wondering if eating all of these not-for-human consumption foods may have caused Christy's issues, let me remind you that I also ate all of these things and I'm JUST FINE.
So, there I was, stuck in Mrs. Murphy's 3rd grade classroom with no best friend. Alone. Forlorn. Abject. Desolate. Bereft. I know these words because every time Mrs. Murphy thought I displayed what she called "attitude", I had to stay in from recess and read the dictionary. According to my spelling grades, I displayed "attitude" on a regular basis.
Then came the day Mrs. Tucker, the school secretary, called through the intercom and asked me to come to her desk. I couldn't imagine what I had done. Recently.
As I approached Mrs. Tucker's desk, there stood a girl about my age, with straight brown hair, freckles and buck teeth. Her name was Kristine and she was to become my BEST FRIEND EVER!! She, however, did not know this yet.
Mrs. Tucker explained to me that Kristine had just moved into the trailer court in which I resided, and would I mind very much showing Kristine around, explaining the school rules to her and being her recess buddy?
I felt like the angels were singing to me. They were singing a song called "Your old best friend's name was Christy and this girl's name is Kristine, which sounds extremely similar but not exactly the same. Maybe Christy was killed in a horrible fiery car crash and this girl is a reincarnation of her, only one that can do math in her head."
Color me obsessed.
Unfortunately for me, I came down with a horrible case of the poopsies that night, along with throwing up, so I had to miss 3 days of school. All I could think about, between bouts of vomiting, was "But...but who is helping Kristine? Did she get to the bus stop ok? Who did she sit with at lunch? I wonder if she knows the rule about only using four squares of toilet paper if you pee but if you poop you can use six?"
So on the 4th day, I trudged up to the bus stop, depressed about going back to school, but also excited about my new best friend!!!
Then I saw that 9-year-old bitch, Anna Smith*. She was walking arm in arm with MY BEST FRIEND NAMED KRISTINE AND THEY WERE GIGGLING!!!"
Oh. HELL NO.
So, like any obsessed, desperate for friendship, possibly but probably not psychic, emotionally traumatized and lonely 8-year-old girl who really HAD just lost her best friend, I moved in for the kill. NOBODY was gonna steal my best friend away from me. Especially that bitch Anna Wilson.
Me: "Hey, Anna!"
They both turned.
Anna (all innocent-like): "Yes? Oh, hi! Have you met my new friend, Kristine? Kristine, this is-"
Me (through clenched teeth): "SHUT UP ANNA! And she's not your friend, she's MINE!!! She's my BEST FRIEND actually! MRS. TUCKER SAID SO!!!"
Anna (smirking): "Oh, um...well, we're already bus buddies, isn't that right, Kristine?"
Kristine looked from me to Anna, then back again, wide-eyed. I knew she was trying to figure out which side she should take, as well as factoring in how bad it might be to piss off someone obviously as crazed and dehydrated as me.
Just then, the proverbial sun broke through the clouds. Kristine smiled at me and skipped over. Over to MY SIDE! SHE PICKED ME!! And there's no take-backs from that, just so you know.
Kristine linked her arm through mine and we were off. I flipped that bitch Anna the bird as we walked past her.
Kristine and I were bus buddies, lunch buddies, recess buddies, spying on people smoking pot in the trailer court buddies, playing truth-or-dare in the park at night buddies and catching Renee and Tommy trying to do it in the bushes behind old Mrs. Willet's trailer buddies.
And that's how I got my best friend.
|Kristine and me on my 13th birthday.|
*I should tell all of you that Anna Carter was NOT a bitch in the 3rd grade, I just put that in there for humor. A pathological liar, yes. A bitch, not until