his royal consort-ness
As most of us were in the 8th grade, I was extremely awkward, but I feel no qualms in claiming that I was probably more awkward than most. (My yearbook photo was aptly dubbed Rat-Girl by my sister.) And, I mean, I'm not exaggerating. I was incredibly skinny, had braces, limp, scraggly and frizzy hair that I had no idea what to do with, and ugly jeans. Also, really bad hair. And pimples. And did I mention the hair? Oh, and I was scared of boys. In terms of self-confidence, I always knew that I was smarter than most of my classmates, but I also knew that most of them were better than me at everything that mattered back then. On top of all this, I also seemed to possess that rare quality that some find enjoyable in a person: it is ridiculously easy to make fun of me, both in fun and while being cruel. So really, it's no wonder that I kind of embraced the awkwardness. I made it my new goal to say ridiculous things, and instead of being embarrassed by my weirdness, I made it my trademark. This is the quest upon which I was newly embarked as of the 8th grade, and this is the quest that most likely spawned the birth of my dear friend Joe.
Most children, if they're going to have invisible friends*, have them at an early age: five, six, seven. My friend Joe? We met when I was thirteen. He wasn't around much, but when he was, I mostly used him to make people laugh. You see, Joe is a very tiny man, but he has a very large ego, and he's very ungrateful. At first he just liked to sit on my shoulder because it was a good way to see things (seriously, I mean he was only three inches tall). But then one day he met my best friend Kate and he fell in love with her. Theirs was a doomed love, because aside from his only being three inches tall, no matter how hard she tried, Joe was invisible to her. As a result, I was often stuck with either a very cranky and lovelorn tiny man on my shoulder, moaning and whining, or no Joe at all. Instead of being forced to look at the love of his life all day long (I was with Kate almost constantly back then), Joe went off and had adventures, and when he would come back, he would take great pleasure in relating them to me. Climbing trees and taking naps in birds' nests, running away to Mexico for the day and coming back with tiny burritos, having affairs with naughty teachers, etc.
I, of course, took great pleasure in relating these adventures to my friends; most of them looked at me like I was crazy, but they always laughed while doing so. But then a tragedy befell my dear Joe: Kate got a boyfriend. Joe was so enraged when he heard the news that he jumped off my shoulder, screaming and clutching at his hair. He ran so fast that I couldn't even catch him. I didn't hear from him for three weeks, and then one day I got a letter in the mail. It was postmarked from a freighter bound for Spain. Joe had apparently grown tired of his tragic American life, and in order to escape his pain, was bound for Europe (a mistake, as he would soon come to learn). Kate was very relieved when I told her that Joe was all right and she demanded that I give her regular updates.
Sometimes I wouldn't hear from Joe for months, but the biggest news came at the end of ninth grade when Joe sent me a letter saying that he had met someone and that they had gotten married rather hurriedly. Imagine my surprise when I learned via his next letter that his newly betrothed was none other than the Queen of Spain, and the reason for their hasty nuptials, the impending arrival of their ill-conceived progeny. Joe had been a bad, bad boy.
Our relationship was basically severed at this point. I did not agree with his life-choices. Leading on the Queen of an entire country is not a nice thing to do when you're still in love with somebody else, nor is impregnating said Queen with your tiny spawn. Years went by. I made new friends, none of whom knew Joe. Until Stephanie, that is. She was my partner in Honors Chemistry, she was a pyro, and she loved hearing about Joe almost as much as I loved telling her. She would draw me picture after picture of my old friend Joe: stalking Kate in her house, under her bed, in her shower; sending love letters to Kate; and even a portrait of what his wedding to the Queen might have looked like. You see, she could tell how much I missed the little guy. She was especially thrilled when we received news from an anonymous source that Joe had abandoned his new wife and daughter to some unknown, adventurous fate. Even now, years later, when I haven't thought about Joe for ages, or the friends that knew him, sometimes I'll get a package or a letter in the mail. It usually contains a small present, like a stuffed bear or some candy, but always there's a single sheet of notebook paper, hastily but lovingly ripped out, and bearing a tiny likeness of Joe. And he's usually doing something naughty. It's moments like those that I'm really glad I invented him.
*Thank you to The Collective for this highly enjoyable trip down memory lane.
Most children, if they're going to have invisible friends*, have them at an early age: five, six, seven. My friend Joe? We met when I was thirteen. He wasn't around much, but when he was, I mostly used him to make people laugh. You see, Joe is a very tiny man, but he has a very large ego, and he's very ungrateful. At first he just liked to sit on my shoulder because it was a good way to see things (seriously, I mean he was only three inches tall). But then one day he met my best friend Kate and he fell in love with her. Theirs was a doomed love, because aside from his only being three inches tall, no matter how hard she tried, Joe was invisible to her. As a result, I was often stuck with either a very cranky and lovelorn tiny man on my shoulder, moaning and whining, or no Joe at all. Instead of being forced to look at the love of his life all day long (I was with Kate almost constantly back then), Joe went off and had adventures, and when he would come back, he would take great pleasure in relating them to me. Climbing trees and taking naps in birds' nests, running away to Mexico for the day and coming back with tiny burritos, having affairs with naughty teachers, etc.
I, of course, took great pleasure in relating these adventures to my friends; most of them looked at me like I was crazy, but they always laughed while doing so. But then a tragedy befell my dear Joe: Kate got a boyfriend. Joe was so enraged when he heard the news that he jumped off my shoulder, screaming and clutching at his hair. He ran so fast that I couldn't even catch him. I didn't hear from him for three weeks, and then one day I got a letter in the mail. It was postmarked from a freighter bound for Spain. Joe had apparently grown tired of his tragic American life, and in order to escape his pain, was bound for Europe (a mistake, as he would soon come to learn). Kate was very relieved when I told her that Joe was all right and she demanded that I give her regular updates.
Sometimes I wouldn't hear from Joe for months, but the biggest news came at the end of ninth grade when Joe sent me a letter saying that he had met someone and that they had gotten married rather hurriedly. Imagine my surprise when I learned via his next letter that his newly betrothed was none other than the Queen of Spain, and the reason for their hasty nuptials, the impending arrival of their ill-conceived progeny. Joe had been a bad, bad boy.
Our relationship was basically severed at this point. I did not agree with his life-choices. Leading on the Queen of an entire country is not a nice thing to do when you're still in love with somebody else, nor is impregnating said Queen with your tiny spawn. Years went by. I made new friends, none of whom knew Joe. Until Stephanie, that is. She was my partner in Honors Chemistry, she was a pyro, and she loved hearing about Joe almost as much as I loved telling her. She would draw me picture after picture of my old friend Joe: stalking Kate in her house, under her bed, in her shower; sending love letters to Kate; and even a portrait of what his wedding to the Queen might have looked like. You see, she could tell how much I missed the little guy. She was especially thrilled when we received news from an anonymous source that Joe had abandoned his new wife and daughter to some unknown, adventurous fate. Even now, years later, when I haven't thought about Joe for ages, or the friends that knew him, sometimes I'll get a package or a letter in the mail. It usually contains a small present, like a stuffed bear or some candy, but always there's a single sheet of notebook paper, hastily but lovingly ripped out, and bearing a tiny likeness of Joe. And he's usually doing something naughty. It's moments like those that I'm really glad I invented him.
*Thank you to The Collective for this highly enjoyable trip down memory lane.