I was balanced carefully on the edge of the tote, leaning out as far as my short arms would permit while still holding on to the closet rod and not knocking any of the coat hangers off it. One of my mother's shirts formed a dress with a tie from my dad's closet as a belt, and my little pink toes curled around the rim of the tote as I waved a stick like a magic wand.
"Onward!" I shouted, and then, holding my wand in my teeth jumped from the tote to a chair in the middle of the room. The chair lurched from my inertia then stood still. Mime jumped on my bed and ran from end to end of it.
"Come on!" I called, waving the stick, having now regained my balance, "We have to escape the lava before the bad guys come back!"
"I can't. I'm locked in the dungeon."
"Well then I'll save you."
"Prince Eric has to save me."
"I don't want to be a prince, princes are boys."
"Fine then, but I'm going to get saved by him."
"Why?"
"Because he is my true love."
"We don't have anybody to play Prince Eric."
"He's like the bad guys, we don't need anybody to play him."
I was thoroughly unconvinced and so we played in the same room with the same story but not together. While I hopped around from unstable furniture item to unstable furniture item battling henchmen and solving puzzles that the evil genius had trapped us in, Mime paced her cell anxiously awaiting her savior.
***
We were playing approximately the same game again downstairs with me jumping from place to place. Mime was jumping on a couch.
"Are you waiting for Eric still?"
"He is my true love, he's going to save me."
"That's a really stupid game, it is always the same."
"No, it is fun, you should try it."
"Fine."
So we stood on the couch and paced and fretted, and she called "Eric, come save me!" so I shouted "Eric, come save me!"
"Eric can't come and save you."
"Why not?"
"He's my boyfriend, you need your own."
"He can't free both of us? We're in the same cell."
"That isn't how it works. My true love frees me, and yours frees you."
"That seems silly."
"It is how love works, now what is his name?"
"I don't know, I haven't met him yet."
"You are not doing this right."
"This is lame!"
"What is his name?"
"I don't know!"
"Fine then, his name is Ken."
"I don't want to date Barbie's boyfriend!"
"He's a different Ken."
"That's a name for an ugly boy!"
"You have a better name for him?"
"No."
"Fine then, now we wait in our cell and call for our true loves to rescue us. They are brothers you see... and they are battling valiantly to save us..." She paused for a moment and then added, "and mine is more handsome than yours!"
"This is STUPID."
So we paced back and forth on the top of the couch for a while until I got bored of it and saved myself by climbing from the arm of the couch to the doorknob of the closet to the top of the piano and over the banister, (but more importantly, out of the way of the lava). Mime was pretty irritated about it, and that was the last time we ever tried to play dress-up together.
***"Are you waiting for Eric still?"
"He is my true love, he's going to save me."
"That's a really stupid game, it is always the same."
"No, it is fun, you should try it."
"Fine."
So we stood on the couch and paced and fretted, and she called "Eric, come save me!" so I shouted "Eric, come save me!"
"Eric can't come and save you."
"Why not?"
"He's my boyfriend, you need your own."
"He can't free both of us? We're in the same cell."
"That isn't how it works. My true love frees me, and yours frees you."
"That seems silly."
"It is how love works, now what is his name?"
"I don't know, I haven't met him yet."
"You are not doing this right."
"This is lame!"
"What is his name?"
"I don't know!"
"Fine then, his name is Ken."
"I don't want to date Barbie's boyfriend!"
"He's a different Ken."
"That's a name for an ugly boy!"
"You have a better name for him?"
"No."
"Fine then, now we wait in our cell and call for our true loves to rescue us. They are brothers you see... and they are battling valiantly to save us..." She paused for a moment and then added, "and mine is more handsome than yours!"
"This is STUPID."
So we paced back and forth on the top of the couch for a while until I got bored of it and saved myself by climbing from the arm of the couch to the doorknob of the closet to the top of the piano and over the banister, (but more importantly, out of the way of the lava). Mime was pretty irritated about it, and that was the last time we ever tried to play dress-up together.
***
Our mothers were always closer than we were, and so while Mime and I continued to grow apart over the years, we continued to hear about each other a lot, even when she moved a few states away.
We spoke once on 9/11. She wasn't doing a lot, and said that I always had been the one with the brains, and that she needed to find another path through her life. She also said that 9/11 wasn't a big deal and wanted to talk about clothes. We had a big fight, and we've never really had much of a real conversation since.
She ran though a large number of "Erics" in highschool, all of them far older than her, and most of them in college. A part of me is surprised her mother never separated them on statutory rape charges.
By the beginning of her senior year of high school she had selected a particular Eric and was obsessively attached to him. He was an engineer at Georgia Tech, and Mime would tell me about how much money he was going to make when he graduated. I asked her why she didn't just become an engineer herself, like I was, so she could have her own money, or, if she still wanted to marry her Eric, twice as much money. She got angry with me, and told me that wasn't how it worked.
Forgoing college, she moved to Atlanta and played house with her Eric, who, as it turned out, had a drinking problem and a nasty temper. He would beat her, and God knows how else he abused her. He finally tried to drown her in a pool at a party. Thankfully he was slow and drunk, and some of their mutual friends had time to intervene and save her life. That was when she finally realized it was time to leave him for good.
I saw her three years ago. She drove a nice car, had just come from the bar after a few drinks, and wore a little black dress. She reeked of cigarettes, and her face felt worn and dead. There seemed to be nothing genuine or alive left in her, and certainly nothing left of the little girl who had run around my green room playing dress up with me, who had been imprisoned by wicked sorcerers and escaped lava-filled traps with me, who had been one of my closest friends. Apparently, she still stops by her family's house if she thinks what they are serving for dinner is good enough.
"Pika!" she stumbled up in heels and hugged me, "oh look at you! You're all famous now, working for the feds..."
"I... I guess so."
"That's so good. You know, you always had a knack for making your own way..."
"Thanks."
"Come on," she gestured back to her car, "we have to get out of here before mom catches me smoking..."
"Have you been drinking?" her sister Plato cut in.
"Only a little..."
Plato nodded to me, "I'll drive."
We spoke once on 9/11. She wasn't doing a lot, and said that I always had been the one with the brains, and that she needed to find another path through her life. She also said that 9/11 wasn't a big deal and wanted to talk about clothes. We had a big fight, and we've never really had much of a real conversation since.
She ran though a large number of "Erics" in highschool, all of them far older than her, and most of them in college. A part of me is surprised her mother never separated them on statutory rape charges.
By the beginning of her senior year of high school she had selected a particular Eric and was obsessively attached to him. He was an engineer at Georgia Tech, and Mime would tell me about how much money he was going to make when he graduated. I asked her why she didn't just become an engineer herself, like I was, so she could have her own money, or, if she still wanted to marry her Eric, twice as much money. She got angry with me, and told me that wasn't how it worked.
Forgoing college, she moved to Atlanta and played house with her Eric, who, as it turned out, had a drinking problem and a nasty temper. He would beat her, and God knows how else he abused her. He finally tried to drown her in a pool at a party. Thankfully he was slow and drunk, and some of their mutual friends had time to intervene and save her life. That was when she finally realized it was time to leave him for good.
I saw her three years ago. She drove a nice car, had just come from the bar after a few drinks, and wore a little black dress. She reeked of cigarettes, and her face felt worn and dead. There seemed to be nothing genuine or alive left in her, and certainly nothing left of the little girl who had run around my green room playing dress up with me, who had been imprisoned by wicked sorcerers and escaped lava-filled traps with me, who had been one of my closest friends. Apparently, she still stops by her family's house if she thinks what they are serving for dinner is good enough.
"Pika!" she stumbled up in heels and hugged me, "oh look at you! You're all famous now, working for the feds..."
"I... I guess so."
"That's so good. You know, you always had a knack for making your own way..."
"Thanks."
"Come on," she gestured back to her car, "we have to get out of here before mom catches me smoking..."
"Have you been drinking?" her sister Plato cut in.
"Only a little..."
Plato nodded to me, "I'll drive."
Eventually I did meet an actual pair of brothers named Ken and Eric, and while I found great humor in this, I never shared it with them.
I still have a strong aversion to calling anybody in my age range Eric. All it reminds me of is the image of what is is left of my friend: drunk in broken heels, sucking down cigarettes, and still waiting someplace... waiting for him to save her.
I still have a strong aversion to calling anybody in my age range Eric. All it reminds me of is the image of what is is left of my friend: drunk in broken heels, sucking down cigarettes, and still waiting someplace... waiting for him to save her.
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