Lovely Rita

We grew up together- kinda. Our parents really wanted us to be friends but we were so different from one another;  I remember she had a tea party in 4th grade and I went; it was lame. 3 other nerdy girls dressed up, toting teddy bears in one hand and birthday gifts in the other. We all sat about her front yard drinking tea and eating cucumber sandwiches on a beautiful spring day, listening to Bach or something comparably inappropriate for our age group. Rita, genuinely excited, shared her collection of the American Dolls with us proudly and I left  wondering what in the hell was wrong with her; We were 11 for crying out loud.  People our age weren't playing with dolls and they certainly weren't listing to classical music; we were playing video games and listening to pop and R&B.
After graduation from 8th grade, my parents invited her to come with us to see a movie and I almost died of embarrassment to be seen leaving school with her. The following year, we were in junior high and during winter break, her parents somehow talked my parents into bringing me along on their family road trip to San Jose De Cabo, Mexico. I was excited because I'd never been out of the country and I liked her parents although her younger sister was quite annoying. But something magical on that trip happened; Rita and I became friends. We read teen magazine quizes to each other during the many hours of travel and built a huge sandcastle on the sandy shores of a mexican beach. She pointed out that I had hairs growing out from a mole on my jaw bone that I had no idea existed and I trusted her to cut them off me with a knife. She definitely had her quirky moments, such as the time she bit off a cockroach head and chased me around the RV with it clamped between her teeth. But she was unique and fun. When we got back to school however, I had a difficult time integrating her into my social life. She was annoying to most and an ugly duckling type with her red hair, freckles and long nose. She cornered me one day crying and asked me why she couldn't be my best friend.  "Kelly's my bestfriend, you know that" I told her uncomfortably. Then she looked at me and said, "well how about if we don't call ourselves bestfriends then? How about something else? Bosom buddies?" We laughed. "Premium compatriots?" And although her vocabulary far exceeded mine, I agreed wholeheartedly because deep down, I knew that although I treated her more like a sidekick, she was my best friend. And I sure miss her.