My lack of desire to do homework has resulted in an increased desire to blog. I figure both stimulate my brain, but one is fun, the other sucks at life. Word Vomit of the day sounds a little something like this...
Since before I can remember, I have had a sidekick. Our mother's sat by eachother in church while we were still forming and it is there that I believe we had our first conversations. Troy being 8 months my senior, told me what to expect, how to make the most of my limited legroom, the best best times to kick. I am sure he was my first exposure to comedy, making me laugh no matter what. And I bet it was him who talked me in to coming 8 weeks early so he would'nt be alone too long.
And then we were 3, and we sat by eachother on small rectangles of carpet at preschool. He hat fat cheeks and duck soft hair. I had short legs and big hair bows. Kindergarten came and we went to orientation together. He got white milk, I got chocolate. We ate a cookie in the cafeteria. He walked me to school every day for the next 12 years. Sometimes we double rode my bike, he sitting on the seat, spread eagle, me peddling.
Once we were old enough to cross the street alone, we played every day. 801-943-4755 was the first phone number I knew by heart.
When we were eight we learned to kiss. Our one and only french kiss made us recoil in total horror. We laughed so hard at how gross that was and wondered why adults even did that. His older brother tattled on us, we denied it the rest of our adolescent lives.
When we turned ten we had the best teacher of our life, Ms. Absey. She was his first love and the only person I knew who called a ziploc a baggie (Bay-gee). We got scolded every single day that year for talking. When we asked her why she didn't just seperate us, she replied, " I can't seperate that good of friends."
We became Jazz fans that year and decided we would train the rest of our lives to play for them, so every day after school we would shoot hoops on Nelson's driveway, dreaming of the day that Karl Malone himself would show up and offer us spots on the team.
I was always the only girl at all of Troy's birthday parties and he the only boy at mine, a fact I never even noticed.
Our favorite games to play were 3 ninjas, monkey orphans or runaway's from mean parents. We liked Oregon trail and the Goosebumps series.
When we were about 11, someone was talking to my mom about Troy and I and she called him my bodyguard. From then on he took that role seriously. He kicked a boy for playing footsie with me when I didn't like it and he has watched out for me diligently everyday since.
We stated a candy club in fifth grade where we took turns bringing treats for the walk home. A new girl moved in and we invited her to join us. Somehow, we convinced her that every day was her turn to bring the treats. That was the first of many shady business ventures.
When we were 13 Troy got an epic sunburn. He played Nintendo while I peeled his back in record sheets.
We learned to snowboard and swear like sailors all in the same winter. I could hear him a hundred yard below me trapped in powder cussing up a storm. By the time I reached him we were both swearing, tears streaming down our faces in frustration. We looked at eachother and our pathetic state and laughed. And laughed. And laughed.
In school, we ran for office like we actually had a chance. We lost a half dozen times between us, and got lucky a time or two. It was between those moments of sweet victory and most bitter defeat that our life mantra was born. "We go in together, we go out together."
When Troy learned to drive, we drove around with the windows down singing songs at the top of our lungs, freedom in its finest sense.
Our drives to and from school were and are some of my favorite memories. We loved to soar off the Brighton Bump, and he would let me control the gear shift or stear the car while he controlled the gas. We had no concept of legality or even death. Sometimes we would sing loud or just talk, and no matter what, we would laugh.
In school, neither of us ever had money for lunch. He claimed his parents starved him and I saved my lunch money to spend at the movies or at Laser Quest. Instead, we developed an impressive system of mooching peoples left over or unfinished food. We particularly loved the salad bar because you could get a ton of food. Whatever people game him, he shared with me, and I with him. We were disgusting, but we supported eachother.
One time we watched a marathon of Arthur on PBS and ate a whole box of Fruiti Pebbles unopened to empty. No one else would do that with me.
When Troy got his first kiss, my other friends and I attempted a stealth drive-by to watch the event. We even ducked as we drove by....as if they wouldn't recognize our car.
Whenever I needed a date or had just broken up with my most recent boyfriend, Troy would always come with me wherever I needed to go. He was my favorite no-stress date, thus dubbing himself "Fallback Troy."
I wrote him twice on his mission, he wrote me the same. We knew it didnt matter if we didnt speak for ten years, we would pick right where we left off, mid-sentence like nothing had even happened.
Somewhere in our twenties we made a pact to marry eachother if we hit 27 and are still single. I turn 25 in a few weeks, and he 26...so we changed the age to 30.
No one makes me laugh as hard. No one thinks I am as funny. I love how Troy never misses a beat in our conversations, hit wit is dead on, our comedy seamless. I love that he is a little bit rebellious, but likes Jesus just as much as I do. I love that we never have to try to be somthing we are not, we never have to explain. He is one of the smartest people I know, and obnoxiously hard working.
In Junior high Troy landed on his head doing his paper route. While he was in the hospital, none of us knew what was going to happen. One girl sat at the lunch table sobbing. I couldn't understand her feelings and wanted to shake her and ask, "Why are you crying so hard? If he dies, you do not lose what I lose. He isn't your troy, but he is mine."
Lucky for me, he lived and the only thing he lost was his sense of smell, which I forget until I ask him to smell something like good cologne or a cool scratch n sniff sticker I have found.
Every year on September 9 I wish Troy a happy birthday in my journal. I have done that since I was 8.
I forget that not everyone has a Troy and I feel bad for them. I often ask myself how I got so lucky, why God loved me enough to not make me go through life alone.
So while you are off having adventures in Korea Troy James, know that I miss you. I can't wait for August and thank you for being my life-long other half and best friend.
