22 april 2000 | back | archive | forward | girl | sign | e-mail

it's so amazing to watch somebody's transformation from girl to woman and to know that you've played a part in it. if you asked me two years ago what i thought of tonia, i would have told you she is mary's older sister, she likes to party a lot and it seems boys like her because she has big boobs.

when i got back from paris that summer, i saw her at the sav-on by my house. she spotted me in the shampoo section and called my name. i didn't think she even knew who i was.

"so what have you been up to?" she asked, as if we were old friends. i was caught off guard. she was friendly.

i told her about graduation, and paris, and poorness and the great job search.

"we should totally hang out sometime," she said, earnestly.

i didn't really know how to respond to that. "yeah," i nodded, but i thought, yeah, right, whatever.

almost a year later, we ended up in the same room again, but this time we were sitting beside each other at a youth group leadership meeting, passing glances and under-our-breath remarks, stifling our giggles. later that night, we shared a table at starbucks, the one by the university because it was the only coffeehouse open past 9pm in that pleasant place we called home.

it was so refreshing to talk to someone who understood -- who needed caffeine and shoe-shopping fixes like i did, who loved art and music with the same passion, who wanted more out of our suburban existence, who was searching for something but not even sure what. and she was somebody i could call at the last minute, somebody who could lend me a cute sweater, somebody who could attend parties with me and help scope out cute boys. i had lost some of that, since most of my longtime girlfriends had moved on to serious relationships, marriage and even children.

maybe my favorite thing about her was that she just exploded with energy (which won her the title of "my little fireball," little because she's a whopping 5'1") and attacked you with the truth. she never let me get away with anything. i could not tell her half a story; i had to tell her the full story. i could not be too embarrassed or scared or wishy washy about anything. no, there was no time for things. say what you mean already, she told me.

of course, that was not always the right way to deal, i taught her. sometimes you need to think before you speak. sometimes you need to contemplate even after you act. people are people, and not everyone is like you, and you need to treat them with respect if you respect it in return. you have to listen, i told her. you have to love.

we're both still learning these things, but we're getting better.

and now i'm moved out of my parents' house, and so is she. we are both pretty busy, but we still try to talk at least than once a week, and when we do see each other, as rare an occasion as its become, it is quality time. (note to self: so wrong. must change this. need more hours in day. circulate petition and bring to God.)

as we walked down 3rd street tonight, we talked about our futures, the boy she likes, the crushes i carry, the loneliness, the fear, the confusion, the hope.

our discussion jumped to the topic of new york, and the possibilities it holds for her fashion and my writing futures. a year ago, she thought i was crazy for wanting to move there, but after visiting for her first time, she fell in love with it, too.

"oh my gosh, can you imagine how much fun we'd have?" i asked her.

"well you know, anything can happen, i totally believe that," she said. "whatever is meant to be will be."

i glanced at her walking right beside me and smiled. "i know," i said. "it's so true."

wow, you people are amazing. really. you guys totally rock; thank you so much for calling me.

and the rest of you: it's not too late to call. i could get addicted to hearing your voices. go on, dial my number, 888.561.3102 x1108.

i watched that sandra bullock movie. and i admit it. i liked it. i even cried. but i do know the difference between a good movie and an entertaining movie, i swear.

among the sea of bad street performers stood trevor thomson, a hunk of a boy with a dreamy voice, surrounded by swooning girls. tonia and i were completely sucked in by the vortex spun by his velvetty voice and stood there, a puddle of drool forming at our feet. tonia bought the CD, and you better believe i'm burning myself a copy. this boy can kick backstreet butt any old day.

"don't forget the felicity tapes when you come. i've already missed three episodes." -- a voicemail message left by my mother, believe it or not. of course, if you know me at all, i'm sure it's not hard to believe.

buttercup is my favorite power puff girl.