In my life, every once in a gloriously blue moon, a girl and I form a brand new friendship. These are the stories of 4 particularly unique ones. These are 4 girls that brought my life into such vast adventures I thought Id be young forever.

by Melvin Sokolsky

“Kelley, the Original Diva”

“What a slut,” I said with clenched, brace-covered teeth.

Oh, how lovely the sweet antics of prepubescent girls! So full of light and joy… and anger and fear and vengeance and wrath. Looking back, it is quite amazing how us ladies go from dressing up Barbies to calling our fellow beauties whores. And why?

Well, this situation was quite specific. Did my fellow 12-year-old Kelley Kramer walk around South Jersey in booty shorts, making her way towards the seedy motels on Route 130, to eventually land in the warm embrace of a passing trucker for $55.99? No, that is a prostitute.

This “slut” began dating the first guy who ever showed interest in me, after I turned him down. My-oh-my, what a tramp. It’s hilarious, really. She did nothing wrong. The only thing wrong with this situation was puberty: my brand new period and my incredibly slow growing bosom. All of these sudden changes make any girl so uncomfortable in her new pimply skin.

However, there was one young lady that seemed untouched by the changes. A pimple appeared and she covered it with Clinique and a shrug. Her breasts grew and her mom and she frolicked around Victoria’s Secret and bought lower cut shirts. If she liked a boy, no problem; she watched enough General Hospital to keep the drama on lock-down. Kelley had porcelain skin, soft brown curly hair, round glasses, sparkly green eyes, a perfect body she never worked for, and an attitude that makes her the preppiest ghetto chick God ever made. She is like the product of a one-night-stand between a Gap ad and a Paul Wall music video.

Initially, she was intimidating. In middle school, I always felt like I was drowning in my own insecurity, so to see such a strong tower of a 12-year-old barreling down the halls, I felt like a failure. The icing on the cake was her “stealing” my only potential boyfriend. However, her relationship with him lasted a whopping 2 weeks before Beth moved in with stunning persuasion and whisked the boy away. Now Kelley and I sat together, clenching our teeth, “What a slut!”

How any female relationship prevails through such immature times is beyond me. Although Kelley’s mom said it from day one: “I love Brenda. I know you think you have a best friend already, but Brenda’s really gonna be the one that sticks with you.” My parents felt the same, splitting their adoration for Tara and Kelley equally. And our parents truly knew best; I feel closer and more in love with Kelbel every passing year…

Me and Kelbel

I remember feeling so humiliated by her sometimes. If we attended a basketball game, she’d be the girl shaking her hips, standing on a bleacher, and yelling, “Kick their asses!! WOOOOO!” I would bow my head down in shame. But, secretly my mind would start spinning, “How does she do that? Why can’t I do that?”

Whether or not it was apparent to onlookers, Kelley’s antics were never because she starved for attention, or because she was arrogant, or because she longed for guys to see her hips shake. She simply knew she was beautiful because God made her that way, she believed she was invaluable, she believed her opinions counted enough to shake heaven and change earth, and she strutted around in those truths from the day she took her first steps.

I am fairly certain that I can credit her for the first few times I stood up for myself, the initial moments I plunged into something to follow my heart, and the earliest occasions I was able to look in the mirror and feel good about myself.

Kelley and I have moved far past these initial phases of friendship and have both accomplished much. But I still look to her for prayer, advice, guidance, assurance, and unconditional love.

Ode to Kelley, the original diva.

Unknown

“Perla the Paramount Socialite”

Of all of my friends, I think she would be the most likely to be found an undercover super-hero. I can see, for a moment she is knocked out by the insane rapist and crack slinger she was chasing for the FBI. The feds catch up to the mysterious hero, dressed in a flowing blouse, tweed skirt, classy vest, and thigh high leather Prada boots. Her skin-tight mask crafted from paisley fabric is slowly pulled back to reveal…Perla! Upon reading the discovery on msn.com, I would take another swig of my Starbucks and shrug, “That figures.”

 My Perla is as mysterious and lovely a discovery as a true pearl. At first glance, one may think they have taken it all in. “Ah yes, there is a beautiful shell, I see.” Short, pure black hair, outstanding cheekbones, lovely eyes with spider-like lashes, and a slender tall figure covered in porcelain skin. However, for those fortunate enough, she’ll open up that surface to reveal none other than an iridescent interior: a true gem.

 I first met the girl at church. She looked at me with intense eyes, as she usually does, to the extent that I expected a stunning revelation to flow from her lips. Instead, “We should meet for coffee sometime soon.” We exchanged numbers and shortly thereafter were sitting across from each other with lattes.

 I didn’t expect it at the time, but Perla entered my life at the perfect moment. She mentioned, in passing that her mom’s home had an extra room I would be welcome to live in. I smiled but said I had Courtney. Days later, Courtney was engaged and I was calling Perla, “Yeah, about that room?” A mere month later, my Ikea was stationed in this stranger’s home. I lay on my bed, staring into the ceiling until knocks rapped on my door. Perla stood on the other side, all made up, drinking diet from a straw, “Come dancing!”

 ”Right now?”

 A shrug, “Yeah. Get dressed!” I hurried myself and in ten minutes we were sitting in back of her friend’s truck with music blasting. I still get nervous when I’m in crowds of strangers, but she grabbed my hands with a smile and dragged me onto the dance floor when we arrived.

 In my heart, there was a huge sadness. Court and I were a team, “The Dynamic Duo” and I just wasn’t sure I could go on without her with the same confidence and happiness I had before. However, for a second, as Perla spun around with all her dancing skill I thought, “Ok…I can do this.” No, not dance as amazing as Perla, not at all. But, continue on in this city, with joy, yes.

I couldn’t have suspected it then, but I remained in Perla’s house for 11 months. I wasn’t sure why life was seemingly moving along so slowly, but now with my bird’s eye view, I know why I was there. Perla taught me so much that I can’t thank her enough for.

Perla at home.

First of all, no matter how afraid, always exercise spontaneity. Oh, you’re sleeping? Too bad, get up and go have fun. Oh, you’re sad? That sucks. Go eat tacos…in Mexico. Don’t worry, Perla is fluent and from the place, so go ride the bull, who cares?

 Secondly, always help a friend, or complete stranger, in need. If your friend is in a crack house, go bring her roses, treat her to Mel’s Diner, and see if she wants to talk. You see a bum? See if she needs to talk too. If Brenda spies Gisele checking out at Whole Foods, don’t hesitate to run up and try to get her number and another personal assistant job for her.

 Thirdly, make it clear that no one needs drugs or obscene amounts of alcohol to have fun. To prove it, throw constant theme parties such as “The Yellow Party”, “Classy Wine & Cheese Party”, a “Pirate Party”, or whatever you can dream up on a whim.

 Fourthly, know what you’re worth. I remember arriving home from a date with yet another low-class dude. I was discouraged and felt like such an idiot for acting so under my level all the time. I dejectedly shut my car door, and looked up in surprise at the roof of our shed. Erected upon it was a camping tent. Laughter and music sounded from inside of it. A smile spread on my face; it was none other than Perla and her boyfriend camped out, on a shed roof, near Compton. I remembered something I’d heard escaping her lips that morning, “I really wanna go camping with Steve, but he’s too busy to leave LA for a while.”

 Regardless, camping they went.

 She showed, by example, what a girl is worth all the time. And when it got personal, she would simply say, “So don’t call that guy. He’s a jerk.” She always made things just as easily said as done for me.

 After those 11 months, I moved to New York for a summer, then to Newport, now to West Hollywood, and I still miss the sounds of her tiny keyboard and stunning voice coming from the backyard as she scribbles lyrics into a notebook.

 Thankfully, we remain close and I still get brand new glimpses into the array of colors that shine off that iridescent pearl all the time. So, to a girl that taught me so much, and who is a truly unique spirit and leader:

Ode to Perla, the paramount socialite.

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