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September 11, 2003
Fool
I must be losing my mind, getting old, some shit.
The flashback: Friday, September 6, I was running around my apartment like a crazy person getting ready to go to my boyfriend’s friend’s birthday party. I had been procrastinating all day. It’s not that I don’t enjoy spending time with people that I hardly know, it’s just when the birthday person is a girl, I feel compelled to bring her something little and nice because I am a girl. I’ve met this girl four or five times. She’s always nice to me, pleasant and she’s known my boyfriend since Jesus was born. Plus, recently she told me I can go to any Jay Leno show as long as I give her enough notice. Jay Leno’s show isn’t the prize here. It’s the fact that I don’t have to wait in line at 2 in the afternoon in Burbank (!) for something they shoot around 6. I still have to come up with my celebrity wish list. Of course, I only really want to see interesting people like Christina Aguilera if she goes. What would she wear to that? And maybe a good band would play and I could see them. Anyway, I had a terrible feeling in my stomach as I was wrapping her gift (the cutest Hello Kitty change purse, Hello Kitty set of 12 lip gloss, Hello Kitty pen, Chococat stationery, Hello Kitty socks, you get the point). I felt like I was forgetting something or someone. So, I flipped through my schedule book (that also doubles as paperwork holder, phone number list, pen case, coaster, photo album, etc). I hit August 31, and the word “birthday” in pink stared back at me ominously. It was written in glittery cursive, big and annoying (how can my own handwriting annoy me?) but WITHOUT a name attached. It just said the word birthday. What is that? Immediately, I thought, “Fuck, Anisa’s birthday!”
Anisa, if you’ve been reading this page for three years, is my long time best friend since 6th grade. She was the only Trinidadian girl in our school, and we bonded quickly on Team 4 at Williams, and then in 7th grade at Franklin Junior High and by high school we were inseparable. We hated the same people. We each had a foreign mom complete with accents that our friends swear they didn’t understand, but whatever, you heard her, so we related on that level. That foreign parent thing worked better on my end. I could tell a half-truth to Mercy and be on my way, but Miss Judy? Miss Judy investigated, or just plain knew better, and always sleuthed out the real situation. We’d go anyway. We hated prom. Pep rally? Fuck off (but we’re going still). We hated clubs – academic or social even though we were in most of them. We believed all that “it looks good for colleges” shit. I just don’t work well in a group. Group project? I’ll kill you. We loved Sanrio. We loved Jawbreaker. We made straight As effortlessly (except that trig bullshit). We feigned sickness at gym every chance we got. “I’m anemic. She’s got heat exhaustion. Our moms said…” We were in honors and advanced and gifted and all that shit that we thought mattered. She was on yearbook staff and we made it a point to include the nerds no matter how much the cool people tried to monopolize every page. What’s the point in having a yearbook filled with all the people you despise? Anisa was the highlight of my entire junior and high school years. She made all of it doable, and dare I say I had fun? I love her.
Anisa and I also joined forces with Lisa, the only Korean girl and we soon became “The Imports.” Not a name we chose, a name given to us by this boy Dante* who I was in love with from 8th to 11th grade. The first time I saw him, he was wearing black jeans, a black faded Megadeth shirt and he was mowing the lawn. Who was I? He had long brown 70s hair and he looked like a baby Hugh Grant, an actor that I, of course, didn’t recognize at that time in my life. Years flew by. He and I became actual friends and I saw him at shows and sometimes at school when he came and he was Mr. Hardcore Straight Edge, retiring his metalhead couture over the years. Triple X, man. He was cooler than the average young dude. I can’t really explain it. That fool was on some different shit. Anyway, he finally became my true real boyfriend in one of the grades between 8 and 11, but it was sketchy at best. I think we might have held hands once, and that was the extent of our intimacy. I loved him the most in my high school career. In those days, there were no real requirements and guidelines for being called boyfriend and girlfriend. If I ate lunch with you on “third lunch” you could be my boyfriend. Who cared? Although some people I knew were boyfriend and girlfriend to the point where they were living together at one of the parent’s houses and Shorty would never play that shit. That shit is absurd. You’re 17, go home. I was hung up on this Dante character for entirely too long, even through and in between new boyfriends. Junior year in high school, Anisa and I agreed that we had to close “The Dante Files” forever. Plus I don't think he really wanted to be a part of the Howard mix after my sister purposefully ran over his foot when she picked me up from school one day. It's a big sister's job really --to run over a pseudo boyfriend's foot that is.
So, yeah, I immediately thought it was Anisa’s birthday and I lost my mind. I called 1 800 Flowers in a panic. Help me, I’m the worst friend in the world. I order up some flowers. On the card, I said, “You can kick me in the stomach the next time you see me. Happy Birthday. I love you!” Keep in mind, I’m still getting ready for this other party. I’m half dressed, got only one eyelid done. It’s a mess.
Anisa called me yesterday after she got the flowers, and left a message. It wasn’t her birthday. The second she said that, I realized her birthday is October 27, the same day as Jamie’s. I knew that. She’s a good Scorpio. Not a crazy one. I think I just like to create high stress situations. I made myself believe it was her birthday on August 31. I really believed it. You don’t understand. I made myself believe it. Oh, and that “forgot something” feeling was a fluke. I hadn’t forgotten anything that day.
I’m crazy. Not Fatal Attraction crazy, but crazy. That’s my new favorite movie by the way.
Posted by melissah at September 11, 2003 08:12 PM