There’s this one
girl woman who rocks. [We haven’t lived in the same town in six years, so I have to keep reminding myself that she is a woman, not a girl (I guess I have to do that about myself, too).]
Her name is Kathryn and she is tall. She has brown hair and she is not Jewish. She may or may not have gone to college in Africa. She has pretty eyes and a goofy grin and she loves her friends. Also, she is tall.
She moved to Moraga from near-Chicago and regaled us 7th graders with tales of snow and cold. I live there now! I sat next to her in Pre-Algebra, and I think she was better at it than I was.
She has been my stalking-enabler for over a decade. She helped me stalk her neighbor. She helped me stalk my last love (before we were in love). She drove me home, lots. She had an Explorer, like the stalked neighbor. Her house has a five-car garage, I think. One time, I met her college friends at her house. Her mom bought them all 40s and I drank a can of Coke. It was yumzorz.
A month ago, I texted her, and she called me back when I was bawling, in my suit, on Fairbanks and Superior. She inadvertently reminded me that she has known me for a decade! and my entire non- and romantic history! and my entire adulthood! and most of the time I’ve been cool! and only half the time she has been cool.
Oh! Also! she helped make sure I was in the yearbook more than anyone else junior and senior year. And that made me feel cool. Friends in high places, man.
Today, she lives in DC and seems to live a wonderful, full, young life. She deserves it. And I love her. Here’s to you, superstar.