The Goddess Speaks
The Goddess Speaks
Pottery helps rekindle
an old friendshipFree time is such an awkward concept. Whenever I have free time, someone always inevitably asks me, "How did you spend it?"
Can you spend something that's free? Lately on Fridays, the first day of my weekend, I've been spending that free time at the Clayground with my pals Jenny and Rose.
Short of sounding like Forrest Gump, Jenny is amazing. She always was. When I moved schools to Roosevelt High School years back, upperclassman Jenny befriended me without asking any questions like, "So did you buy those jeans from Gap?" -- well, Sears is kind of near Gap -- or "Are you dating the quarterback or the guitarist?" Does the marching band drum major count as a football player?
No, Jenny didn't care about whether I was cool or a geek. She just knew me as a friend.
There was a book released recently about aggression among teenage girls. The talking behind each other's backs, sizing one another up and down, searching for any possible faults.
I had a reprieve in Jenny, who didn't even know how much she helped an insecure band geek adjust to the stress of a new school.
Well, the geek's grown up into a beautiful -- scratch that -- an older geek.
And I married a marching band drum major, so nothing's really changed, including Jenny.
Jenny and I lost touch after her high school graduation party, but I always remembered how she helped me.
My husband Derek and I were walking around Mililani Town Center -- geeks and drum majors move to Mililani when they grow up -- when, of all people, I saw Jenny eating Chinese food.
I peered through the window, telling Derek, "It's Jenny! That's Jenny!" He was embarrassed and dragged me from the window.
"You make it look like we're starving, Gen," he complained.
"But it's Jenny!"
"Maybe she doesn't remember you," he replied, holding my hand firmly as he walked me past the Chinese restaurant to the theaters.
I was crestfallen. How could she not remember me when she played such a major role in my teenage life?
The pressures of deadline life and trying unsuccessfully to live up to friends' images of Lois Lane are trying on young reporters, especially when your husband can barely hop, let alone fly, and when Friday finally arrived, my coworker Rose and I met at the new Mililani paint-your-own-pottery place.
Basically, after a week of work, the only thing you're able to do is paint pretty pictures on pots.
Rose and I had just walked into the store, excited to put our marks on dishes, when I heard, "Hey! Genevieve!"
Jenny was standing behind the counter, and she remembered me.
"What are you doing here?" I asked, assuming that she must have been hired by an older woman wearing her eyeglasses on a chain, flowing craft fair clothes and a short hairdo.
"I own this place," Jenny said, fidgeting in her jeans and ponytail. She then laughingly explained that she wanted to have something to say at her 10-year reunion.
Now Rose and I rush to Jenny's quaint store and paint our hearts out -- much to Derek's misfortune. We have Genevieve-painted mugs, bowls and spoonholders everywhere.
When I go to pick up the finished items from Jenny, I always wince at my creation. Sometimes it sports my name, cats, books. It's obvious I was in band and not art.
But Jenny, same ol' Jenny from high school. She points out the way the colors subtly complement each other, the artistry in my poorly stenciled images and, wow, how neat my name looks on a mug.
Jenny is once again helping me adjust, cheering me on as I collect mismatched pottery.
Genevieve A. Suzuki is a Star-Bulletin reporter.
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