And I immediately replenish my paints and brushes supply and continue working on a stack of prints for my room next year.
But more importantly, begin crafting for my future little!
In the A&B tradition, I think about our origins in that fateful grouping in 7th grade science class. We were all such demure, shy, awkwardly polite kids and having to work in a group where we were all tripping over ourselves to be gracious was like:
Then, you invited me to your Halloween party and I was all, “Really? But we barely know each other….” And you were all, “Yeah!”
But the next few times I came over to your house, I ended up neglecting you because your dad and I were better friends than we were. Oh, the days of talking politics with ol’ Benjamin. You recently told me that you got jealous and called your momma to complain that your dad was hogging me.
But very quickly, you and I became thick as thieves and Ben became The Foe.
And our pickle-juice-in-his-Coke-can prank failed. Who smells their drink unless they’re at a sketchy frat party?!
But after 7th grade, we only had like two classes together again for the rest of our middle school through high school days, and every time we got our schedules we’d look at each other and be like:
And I reminisce of the days of high school procrastination where the payoff was even larger than now because our teachers loved us and often praised us in class for our “thorough attention to detail, insightful analysis, and clear effort.”
Even though we are the masters of procrastination and artisans of the fine skill that is BS-weaving and often looked like this when we worked:
And year after year, paper after paper, project after project, we freak out in the final hours of due dates and swear to each other never to procrastinate again, exchanging vows of kicking each other’s rears if the other one did. Unfortunately, years of excelling academically despite our slacker style has left us like this:
And then grew up, as children tend to do. And you chose to attend UCLA and I was like:
But not really. But it’s pretty hilarious that we as best friends are mortal academic enemies and our rivalry looks more like this:
When I visit, we sit along Bruin Walk and play the rating game. Ninety percent of the time, we’re giggle and go:
And of course, our win on my birthday when we went to dinner and, through banter with the waiter, got served lovely champagne and we were like:
Speaking of which, normally I’d celebrate a birthday like this:
The above scene is something we’ve yet to experience together. Hmmm, maybe now that you’re nineteen you’ll relent.
Wow, nineteen. Again, I have to say it. Nineteen. Now that my freshman year of college is three days away from being completed, I can’t help recalling the day I moved out of our childhood city and you came by to say goodbye. -commence tearing up at the memory-
Despite the tests of time apart and distance, we remain best friends. Whenever we think of how easily we could have been in different 7th grade science classes or a different group, we give thanks to the Scheduling Gods.
Jeez. Look at us. Finishing up our first year of college. And to think, it seems like just yesterday we were anxious and groaning of how old we were because we were eighth graders going off to high school.
You know, now that we’re nineteen, we’re actually both in our twentieth year of life. Twenty. The big 2-0. Oh man! Forgive me if my math is incorrect, seeing as how I’m terrible with that subject, but if we’re in our twentieth year of life now, doesn’t that mean we’re embarking on the third decade of life now? I’m positive that’s correct. Holy dickens, that’s terrifying.
But you know, it’ll be alright. We know each other. We’re strong, intelligent, and capable. And we’ve got each other. So….
“You alright, Bianca?”
I’ll see for for summer adventures soon, mate.
And my Creative Writing ass envisions a future as a Starbucks barista: