Elizabeth is my best friend. She's a lot of other things, though. She's a writer. She's a lover of music and theatre. Although not outwardly, she's an avid follower of the pop culture--like the rest of us. I guess in her own way, she is a rebel. In her own way, she is forced to be. She's gay. She's a proud gay, and an unproud gay. She does a lot of sitting around, and she gets out as well. She likes a lot of people and a lot of people like her. She has dreams. She has ideals. She has personality. In seventh grade I sat at a table next to her in first hour Science class with Mr. Shneckloth. I liked his ass. I used to sit in class and draw it. She was obsessed with Mr. Shnecloth, and, in turn, his ass. She liked my pictures. Not just the pictures of Shneck's ass, but the pictures I drew of photos in Shneck's old issues of NATIONAL GEOGRAPHIC. I drew naked, starving Somalians, tigers, Native American jewelry--and she thought it was cool. I had butch, short, dark hair, wore giant hoop earrings, and low cut, cleavagy shirts. I went nowhere without my purse, and I wore heavy makeup that was actually done right. To boot, I had older "friends" and a keen interest in tango music and the local tango scene. For seventh grade, I was okay. I liked Liz because she was small and cute, and spunky. She wore sneakers, different sneakers everyday. Her clothes were trendy, and her braces were adorable. She had a very unique way of talking. She kept that. By the summer of seventh grade we were talking about the future, talking about the world, talking about high school, art, and sex. Something just clicked. We found solace in one another. We both felt and thought similarly, or maybe not. Maybe we both just felt and thought. By the summer of eight grade we started a very important project. It was a theatre review paper. It changed our friendship. Not for the best. Certainly not for the worst, but it changed us. We started "going somewhere", and anyone that's remotely savvy knows what I mean. The biggest change in our friendship, however, happened when we went to high school. At first, things were the same. Sam and Liz. Liz and Sam. We were a unit, and everybody got us confused--despite the fact that she's small and white, and I'm big and ethnic. Sam and Liz went to parties together. They were in shows together. They were in the hall together. They were at lunch together. If Liz is at the library, the you'll find Sam there. Where's Sam? At Nonni's? Then go tell Liz... Practially interchangable. We made friends together, too. We became part of the Northtown theatre crowd, and found our place. Then stuff started changing. I grew restless with all the hypocrisy, the drama, the tiring cycles around me. I got sick of the system, fast. Liz excelled in the system. She made new discoveries, and the scene kept adjusting to her new selves. She discovered her sexuality, and then bam, people started giving a shit. As far as I was concerned, they're all two-faced. They all lie. They're all out to hurt you. They have, they did, and when I get caught up in thier shit, they still do. It's an unstoppable cycle, and I quickly lose my breath. Anyway, Elizabeth and I are still best friends. I still love her, and I probably always will.
Barmaid