My childhood
nemesis died last week. I stumbled upon
a Facebook post of her obituary, and audibly gasped. It felt like a gut-punch, with years of
memories flooding my brain. She was 47
when she died, and her obituary was short and did not include clues as to how
she died. It felt like a rough draft
rather than a completed story, and I spent much of the day after I saw it
wondering what happened to her and genuinely hoping that she is at peace.
Our story had the
feel of a Hollywood movie; I was the awkward shy hard-working nerdy geek, and
Vicky was the more exuberant fun talented charismatic charmer. We met in elementary school and became
friends, and adversaries. I have often referred
to her as my nemesis over the years, and I say that I loved her like a sister.
The truth is that there is no one other than my sister who hurt me as much as
she did, and in that way she had an indelible impact on my life.
Vicky and I
attended elementary and junior high school together, but the place that we
spent the most time together was the swimming pool. We were teammates on our club team for many
years, and that is where she tormented me the most. Vicky was much more talented than I was, but
I was a harder worker. She was the kid
who would play around in practice and pull on my feet and skip laps…and then
blow me out of the water in meets. When
we were 9 years old, I almost quit swimming because my coach so blatantly
favored her. But looking back there were
probably coaches who favored me as well. I just knew I wasn’t as good as her.
We were opposites
enough in the pool that we ended up swimming different events and didn’t
compete as much in junior high, but then she tormented me socially. I remember
birthday parties where Vicky would shun me.
I remember how she made fun of me for not drinking. And like a scene from a movie, I remember the
time in junior high that she loudly pointed out a pimple on my face, in front
of the boy I had a crush on. Fun
times.
We ended up going
to different high schools and going our separate ways. Vicky quit swimming and I lost track of
her. I ran into her once years ago and
we talked for a few minutes and were friendly, but that was it. Whereas I went off to college and moved away,
she was living in the same neighborhood that we grew up in when she died. Of course I don’t know the details that would
fill-in the years, and success is not measured by the distance we travel. I hope that she had a lot of fun and love and
happiness over the years.
In my Hollywood
version of the story, she was the mean girl and I was the ugly duckling that
turned into a swan. But this story took
place in the Midwest, not Hollywood.
Vicky definitely tormented me, but I probably tormented her back. I hated her but I loved her too. I’ve traveled far and had some good success,
but that doesn’t make my life any better than someone who stayed close to
home. It just makes it different.
We all have our
stories. Vicky was incredibly important
to mine. Whenever I tell my childhood
story, Vicky is a part of it. A part of
my childhood died last week. I hope that her life was full of the exuberant energy that she had as a kid. I hope that that sparkle continued to shine. RIP, Vicky.
