You were the coolest friend I ever had. Not the best, but the coolest.
A product of a split family, you were in the middle of five other kids, and often passed under the radar for both of your parents. That meant you had little-to-no direct supervision.
You had a tongue piercing, punk-coloured hair, and were allowed to listen to the Spice Girls, and Alanis Morissette all hours of the night. You also adopted kittens without asking permission, and stayed out nights without telling your Mum where you were going – and she was cool with it.
My parents would have thrown a fit if I did any of those things. The closest I ever got to rebellion, was when I read books with a flashlight at 2am in the morning, after Dad told me to turn off the light for the fifth time.
As a cool person, you were totally my hero. I figured, if I wanted to be cool I needed to be just like you.
I even investigated how to get my tongue pierced. Unfortunately not too many tattoo and piercing places would take a green, sweaty, 13 year old seriously. Even if she did have a wad of cash in her trembling fist.
Then I caught you stealing from the nice indian man who ran the magazine shop. I told you that I couldn’t be friends with a shoplifter. You told all your friends that I didn’t sleep with underwear on under my PJ’s.
When I think about it? You were kind of a bitch.