So much of my childhood involved Tiffany; sometimes it’s hard to remember where she began and I ended. One of the biggest memories that comes to mind is when I played Super Mario 64 at her house, specifically the Bowser in the Dark World level. For the life of me, I could not figure out how to defeat Bowser at the end. But she taught me by spinning rapidly on the control stick with my palm. I can still remember the pain from pressing on it, but it worked and we beat the level together.
That’s how a lot of memories with her go: helping one another in a myriad of ways. Enjoying each other’s company because we shared so many things in common. Feeling like I didn’t need to try to be like someone else around her. Tiffany was just that sort of person: you could be as strange as you are and she would love that about you. I remember in elementary school, during recess on the playground, she stitched her fingers together and would undo it just to start up again. She was a weirdo, which is one of the highest compliments I can give her.
You wouldn’t get any judgment from her about being “too old” to be into things that are considered childish. And that is one of the things that I loved the most about having her as a friend. When we would talk about Disney Dreamlight Valley, a video game that we both enjoyed playing, it felt like back when we were kids. She lives forever in my copy of the game now, as a black cat wearing a witch’s hat.
Summertime is probably the season I associate the most with her, and not just because she was a Gemini sun. I loved hanging out with her in her pool, pretending to be whatever fantastical creature we wanted or just talking. Our cats that were practically our children to SpongeBob SquarePants references, nothing was off limits to two kids with wild imaginations on summer vacation.
But when school would start up again, the bus ride in the mornings and the afternoons were the only parts worth remembering. She lived pretty close to me, so luckily I would only be alone on the bus for a short while. And there was a period where she and Tonya would get on the bus with me in the mornings at my grandma’s house. Eating breakfast together and playing Barbies or watching cartoons on PBS, it was the closest thing I had to a sister my own age.
We finally reconnected a few years ago, and it felt like everything that happened in between ceased to exist. It was just back to her and me: still the same kids growing up as neighbors at our core. In all those years apart, it felt as familiar as it did back then. She reached out to me a few years ago when I needed someone like her the most; just a simple friend request that lay dormant for a year before I remembered to check the account. I didn’t have as much time as I would have liked with her, but I’m grateful I got what I did.
My mother took so many photos of her growing up, I never realized just how many until recently. I’m grateful for every picture, whether blurry, red-eyed, or just in the background. It’s a reminder that our friendship was real, that I was there for her as she was there for me. Missing her comes in waves; seeing a stray cat and wishing I could show her a photo, playing the newest DLC of our game and knowing she would love the horses, cooking something delicious and wondering if she would have liked my cooking and vice versa. A small comfort is knowing what we shared together will still live on, even with her passing. I’ll think of her when I cuddle with my cats, hang out with Snow White, and cook a favorite dish. And in these moments, she’s at my side, just like we were back then.