Hannah

*not really edited or pretty language, I must admit; I don't even know what I was trying to say*

The person I consider myself closest to in my life is my best friend, Hannah Gabrielle Maxon.

We've known each other since I was twelve, and our friendship has lasted through a lot of obstacles--including an eighteen hour time difference when she and her family left California to try life in Australia. (As you might imagine, I was depressed for about half a year, until they came back).

But being friends with Hannah has taught me more than any of my other friendships. I think there is always one relationship in your life, romantic or platonic or familial, that changes not only your life, as does every small thing to touch it, but also your heart and your mind and your personality.

Before I met Hannah, I was... well... a full out bitch and a fake. And totally unaware of it. But those first few weeks of eighth grade so many years ago, when I was the new girl, she reached out to me and reminded me that sometimes, being yourself is the best option. I liked to think I was just shy back then, but that's not really true--I've always been outgoing, when I want to be. It was more of an excuse for hiding myself--the me I now know--than anything else.

Whether I was afraid of being rejected by my new peers or I thought I was so much better than them that I couldn't give them the honor of being real, I put up a front--carried a book around with me at lunch and breaks to discourage talking, gave them the bitch-brow whenever they did something I thought was weird to actually do in public, behaved like all eighth graders actually do.

But by the third week, I'd realized something--honestly, I envied these people around me, especially that weird Hannah girl. She was smart, if a little ditzy; tall and blond, just a tad awkward; funny and really strange, but seemingly quiet. And yet, I got the feeling that she was just living her life. Unlike me, she wasn't concerned about what other people thought of her or if she should really want to make friends people. She didn't think as much as I did; she just lived.

It took about a month of knowing her before I finally started letting my guard down. By the time we hit May of the next year, she was my closest friend in the world and I'd finally lost the walls around me, let myself out of the cage I hadn't even been aware I'd built. I wasn't afraid to laugh at jokes that shouldn't be funny, we talked in book-speak for kicks and giggles, I fought and made up with her all the time.

It was different with Hannah. There wasn't any drama involved. With my other friends, I held grudges--oh did I hold grudges. In fact, I used to make my friends write me letters when they apologized for something, because I wanted them to put as much remorse and effort into apologizing as they had put hurt and annoyance in me; it was an even trade in this way. But with Hannah, I'd usually be mad for a little while until she tried talking to me again and got me to start laughing, even when I didn't want to. We can always make each other laugh; in fact, I was employed to come with her for her senior pictures simply for the express purpose of making her smile genuine, as my laugh is prone to do.

The longest I ever stayed mad at Hannah was three days--this after she told me she and her family were moving out of the country within the next three weeks. Mostly, I was shocked by this. I didn't believe her, actually, but after getting confirmation from her sister and her mother, I was forced to accept the inevitable: for the second time in my young life (halfway through ninth grade, at this point), I was going to lose my best friend. I began to wonder if I smelled at this point--she assured me that wasn't the reason, but recommended a new body spray anyways in the hopes of cheering me up.

I don't remember much about the end of freshman year. I know I got in fights with the friends I had left, found a new clique, and withdrew back into myself again. I was clinically depressed, my grades dropped, and I checked my email daily for the latest news from Willoughby Girls High School.

Hannah and her family moved back one week before the beginning of sophomore year, two days before Hannah's fifteenth birthday. I spent at least an hour with her every single day until school began, hanging out at her cousin's house, a cousin I really liked because he could play guitar, was funny, random, and a little weird.

By this time, I could admit I liked weird. By this time, I could admit it was because I was weird (and still am).

As another of my friends still says, when Hannah was gone, it was like I had been trained to behave in polite company; when she returned, I was out of control and crazy again. I laughed more, I made up retarded jokes and stories for fun, and I let myself be who I wanted to be.

Years later, as Hannah and I loom on the point of a larger separation, I know that, really, things won't be all that different. No, I won't see her four to six times a week, and no, I won't get to hug her younger sister (my adoptive younger sister), and I won't get to hang out with the cousin beyond a few times when we go quading out at the ranch, but...

Hannah and I are like sisters. We have the same reactions to many things, we notice random details at the exact same moments, we call each other when the other is driving past our house by coincidence; my personality and mannerisms have been taken on and changed by her, until I feel as if I've been two people in my life: Hyacinth without Hannah, and Hyacinth with Hannah.

The Hyacinth with Hannah is here to stay, even when we end up chasing different paths in a few short months. I've been altered so completely by this strange girl that I'm a completely different person than I was before that awkward August day when we first met.

In fact, because of her, I'm me. The real me.

Hannah is my non-blood-related sister. Our friendship, like the ocean, is constantly changing and always vastly obvious, even when fighting. Unlike the strings that bound me to Marissa, the threads holding me and Hannah together are plated in such strong coating that scissors will never fully break them; instead, they'll glow softly for the rest of our lives, and perhaps afterward.

And when she ends up getting married in however many years, after she's a successful international businesswoman, I'll be her Maid of Honor, giving the tearful speech about how I've never known a more wonderful person, and warnings/promises that I'll be the first in line to kick her lucky husband's ass if he doesn't behave himself--this between, of course, the tale of that time when we were younger when we made up Jeremiah's long complex story at four in the morning, and the silly way we used to turn and double-team people who tried to get us to stop fighting each other. As if we would ever stop fighting (or loving) each other; it's the funniest part of our friendship.

~ Hyacinth

Music Rec: 'Jump in the Pool'--Friendly Fires