I knew this girl in high school who was the funniest person I ever met. Her's was the only humor that could outmatch mine and to me that meant she was smart and I liked smart girls. I was a smart girl.
She was older than me, a junior. I was a freshman. I only went to that stupid school for a year but I secretly loved it. I loved the culture, the teachers, the people like Franki. She was maybe only five feet tall and had the face of a chronic smoker and tanner but I thought she was lovely and her personality was killer. She had great style and her hair was a medium brown- always silky and straight down her back.
The only problem with Franki was that she let life get to her. She couldn't become numb and ruthless like others, cough cough. She was fragile and vulnerable and that made her brave in my opinion. Only a smart girl would get that. But I wanted Franki all to myself, laughing and in the moment in the middle of art class. I didn't want her mind on all of our outside problems, especially not boy problems. I wanted her mind there with me.
There were days in our painting class that Franki would come in upset. I could tell because she wouldn't want to talk to me, or she would just sit quietly, or worst of all she would cry. I wasn't kind to her when she cried. I would coldly snap her out of it. "I hope I never cry over a boy!" I cruelly said to her although I did not intend it cruelly in the moment. I only meant it as a matter of fact. I really did hope that for myself.
But now Franki is gone. I can never tell her that I have cried over many boys. I can't hold her and tell her it's okay, at least we have each other and our brilliant humor. My moment to be there for her has passed. Our friendship has sailed its last gust of laughter. Franki, I think about you all of the time and all of the joy you would have brought so many people. Thank you for the joy you brought me. You were the freaking coolest person ever. Thanks. X
