Send Me a Postcard, Drop Me a Line
I am a bad friend.
Sure, I have my moments. If you’re my friend and someone is mean to you, I will 100% make up cruel and crazy rumors about them without you even asking me to. If you’re feeling sad, I will stare at you uncomfortably and then suggest that we work through our feelings by eating them. If you’ve just had a baby, I will only compare it to my kitten a few hundred times instead of a few thousand, which is what I would do if you were just an acquaintance.
I Can Tell That We Are Gonna Be Friends
In sixth grade, I transferred to a new middle school. My classmate, Kyle, was the only other person who transferred from elementary school with me, and while we got along, we didn’t have a ton in common. At recess the first day, Kyle left with a group of boys to play football and I sat down on a bench and stared at the dirt.
After about five minutes, a girl from my class sat down next to me. “I’m Alissa!” she said.
“I’m Stephanie,” I said. We both stared at the dirt.
“Can you see those ants?” she asked. “Sometimes I feel like I have some kind of super bug vision because I can zero in on them no matter where I’m looking.”
“I see a lot of bugs, too!” I said, and suddenly we were friends. We had sleepovers and played foursquare during recess, and when I moved to Hawaii at the end of the semester, she wrote me letters at my new address.