When we got back into the vagabond house Rose took Marie on a tour around the place. I stayed in the dining room that looked more like a coffee shop nook, due to the lack of table and the abundance of overstuffed chairs. I listened to Marie share her opinions and “oo” and awe about the house. I even heard her proclaim she own the same bedspread as I did. I hate that bedspread.
I crossed my fingers that Rose wouldn’t show her the spare room that was off of the kitchen. I didn’t want Marie to get the idea that we might be looking for another roommate. When they finished the tour Rose brought her into the kitchen where Marie peeled off her coat to expose her pink sweater. I owned that same sweater only in red. I hated that sweater. We began making the tacos. Marie chatted merrily about how she loved that we were the same tall height and she could look me in the eyes. I hate my height. She danced and sang twirling her long blonde locks like a cartoon princess. I half expected mice and birds to scurry in and help us with our lunch.
“Timmy?” Marie sung her head to the side batted her long eye lashes and posed as if she was being interview for Miss America. “So, Timmy? IS your name short for something?”
“Yeah, but I would rather be called Timmy.” I rarely give anyone my full name. It tends to work out they assume the responsibility of calling me by it. Rather than addressing me by my much preferred nick name.
“Would it happen to be TIMMARIE?” Marie was watching me big expectant eyes. She started to bounce up and down on the balls of her feet. I happened to notice she was wearing a pair of shoes I also owned in a different color. I hate those shoes.
“Yeah… My legal name is Timmarie but…”
Maire cut me off. “SO IS MINE!”
I hate my name.
She bursted into giggles hopping from one foot to another . “I go by Marie. I never thought about going by Timmy. How odd is it that we have the same name! Oh you are going to be my bosom friend.”
I hate Anna Green Gables.
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