“Terri, I was just thinking back to when we were kids. I was the dreamer new kid, and you were the popular cheerleader. Those mean girls attacked me, and you came flying out of nowhere to save me.”
“Jen, You hardly needed saving from those girls.”
“You saved me from being alone.” My heart welled up in my chest, and I went full chicken skin.
“Oh, Jen.” She’s choked up on her end of the phone. We go silent.
I love her with all that I am.
She is right, though. I didn’t need help with those girls. In fact, the very next semester, Terri and I were walking down an empty hallway, just talking, when those same mean girls showed up behind us. The biggest one of them started punching my backpack. We were alone with them, and Terri was scared. I asked nicely for the girl to stop two times, and then—
Terri interrupts my reminiscing on the other side of the phone; she happens to be thinking about the same thing.
“You know, Sistah, I remember it like it was yesterday—that girl punching your backpack and you telling her if she did it again, you were going to stop her. I was sure we were about to get beaten up. Sure enough, the big girl punched again immediately. Then I looked over and saw your face, and I was even more petrified because you were so calm. One minute, you were looking at me. The next, you turned away, and I saw something fly through the air behind me. I didn’t know what it was. Then, the next thing I knew, you were back standing next to me, adjusting your backpack, and calmly walking off as if nothing had happened. I peeked behind us, and the big girl was still standing where we left her. Her friends were trying to get her attention, but she was frozen in a boxer stance with that stupid expression on her face. Then her glazed eyes twitched a bit, and she fell over, flat on her face.”
I laugh at the memory and let her continue.
“Remember I grabbed your arm and said, ‘What the hell was that?’ And then you giggled like a shy little schoolgirl with a secret and said . . .”
“That was a spinning whip kick!” we say into the phone in unison.
Terri laughs. “I remember looking at you and thinking, ‘Guess I picked the right girl to defend.’”
As much as Peace loves sports, her friends, and chemistry, they are her passions. But—and there is no way to say this humbly—I am her obsession. Enough said.
“Terri, I was just thinking back to when we were kids. I was the dreamer new kid, and you were the popular cheerleader. Those mean girls attacked me, and you came flying out of nowhere to save me.”
“Jen, You hardly needed saving from those girls.”
“You saved me from being alone.” My heart welled up in my chest, and I went full chicken skin.
“Oh, Jen.” She’s choked up on her end of the phone. We go silent.
I love her with all that I am.
She is right, though. I didn’t need help with those girls. In fact, the very next semester, Terri and I were walking down an empty hallway, just talking, when those same mean girls showed up behind us. The biggest one of them started punching my backpack. We were alone with them, and Terri was scared. I asked nicely for the girl to stop two times, and then—
Terri interrupts my reminiscing on the other side of the phone; she happens to be thinking about the same thing.
“You know, Sistah, I remember it like it was yesterday—that girl punching your backpack and you telling her if she did it again, you were going to stop her. I was sure we were about to get beaten up. Sure enough, the big girl punched again immediately. Then I looked over and saw your face, and I was even more petrified because you were so calm. One minute, you were looking at me. The next, you turned away, and I saw something fly through the air behind me. I didn’t know what it was. Then, the next thing I knew, you were back standing next to me, adjusting your backpack, and calmly walking off as if nothing had happened. I peeked behind us, and the big girl was still standing where we left her. Her friends were trying to get her attention, but she was frozen in a boxer stance with that stupid expression on her face. Then her glazed eyes twitched a bit, and she fell over, flat on her face.”
I laugh at the memory and let her continue.
“Remember I grabbed your arm and said, ‘What the hell was that?’ And then you giggled like a shy little schoolgirl with a secret and said . . .”
“That was a spinning whip kick!” we say into the phone in unison.
Terri laughs. “I remember looking at you and thinking, ‘Guess I picked the right girl to defend.’”
As much as Peace loves sports, her friends, and chemistry, they are her passions. But—and there is no way to say this humbly—I am her obsession. Enough said.
