Our Eighth-Grade year of schooling was the most memorable for me ever - and I think for all of us. All four of us at least. It was the year of the existence of the Babysitters Club. A fuzzy balmy sensation washes over me whenever I harken back to those days. Though, I never actually think about them. I think the memories of that year reside in a very special and deep part of my brain - like in an abyss - glowing eternally.
As I sit here with my four friends - the original members - I bask in a happiness that originates from that time. I think my friends share with me in it. As I sit in Pizza Express, I see groups of people at tables and imagine that they are enjoying similar experiences.
Oh, where are we? Pizza Express. Oh, wait, I already said that. But I bet you didn't know about the long road that took us here. I'm not talking about the commute to this particular restaurant. I'm talking about to this point in time.
It all started when we were all Freshmen in High School. I think it was Claudia that got us all rounded up for the first of these weekly gatherings. I'm not sure. It was such a long time ago. You know the long road that I was talking about earlier? Yeah, the horizon behind me is hard to tell as I look back on it since the glare of the sun is so strong. Never mind the hazy origins - hazy in my mind - but beginning from sometime in the past, we began going out to lunch together every Sunday. Oh, I'm not sure of how many times so and so has missed one of these get-togethers. Heck I don't even remember when [i]I[/i] have missed them. I just know that I'm here now.
And that's all that matters.
But what I do recollect very well is a game invented by the stepsister of one these Lovely Ladies back before we were in high school when the Babysitters Club was in business and we had around seven members total at any given time. Oops. I gave away the punchline. Haha. Anyways, the game was called Lovely Ladies. In this game, you pretend to be well dressed-up proper ladies - probably upper-class, socialites - and have conversations with each other as such.
Well, anyways. Well, what I was going to use the punchline for before I accidentally gave it away was that just as the Lovely Ladies in the game were Lovely Ladies because of their clothes, my friends are Lovely Ladies in their own right. Because of the type of people that they are. They are sweet, generous, kind-hearted and all-around kindred spirits. All of them.
Let's start with Kristy - since she's the aforementioned stepsister's, uh, stepsister. After college, (she graduated with a degree in Social Science) she became a plumber.
As I looked across the table from her, I could I detect the barely visible stubbles of a budding mustache. I'm not one to make fun of people - that's why I never let on that I know about it - but it's particularly catching of my attention today. I look around the table - as I've done before - to see if Stacey is trying to sneak in peeks at it too.
Speaking of Stacey, she's the Al Bundy of our group. She has reminded us on, let's just say, more than one occasion how she won the Connecticut State Championship in Eighth Grade after only being on the Stoneybrook Mathlete team for one month. She's a waitress now and now uses her calculating skills on figuring out the correct change for costumers.
As she's doing now, she's always mindful of being as tidy as she can while eating in a restaurant. But to the untrained eye, she's just casually nursing the consuming of a slice of pizza.
Bump. Clang-ang-ang.
Stacey, Kristy and I all reacted fast and grabbed each of our own cup and held them steady.
"Stop it, Claudia," I hissed as our plates and forks rattled towards being still after Claudia had bumped the table with her hand.
Rar-rrrr.
Stacey immediately screeched a chair back to go get napkins. Kristy just looked intently at Claudia with concerned eyes.
Claudia was shivering tensely as she tried to bridle her movements and instincts. The paper bag we always put over her head everytime we take her out was shaking back and forth feverishly. The kneejerk flying up of her arm that caused the mild scene (None of us looked around to see which patrons or staff noticed) was just a product of her struggling to contain herself.
When we first entered this establishment, we told the waitress what we tell all of the servers that we encounter on these outings: that our friend is a burn victim, mostly on the face, and the bag is to hide all of the deformities rendered from that incident. But that's a lie.
Stacey came back and wiped up the modest amount of spillage from our beverages.
Kristy had not taken her eyes off of Claudia's face since the small disruption that interrupted our meal. I could see those eyes moistening.
"Arr," Claudia moaned.
Besides the paperbag, she's clothed from head to toe with the pants, shoes, turtleneck shirt, jacket and gloves that she has not taken off or was taken off for her since the real incident. Even though we've been careful to hide every part of her body from visibility with clothes (only her eyes show as the paper bag has two holes in it for that), we still are fearful that what she really is might get exposed and revealed anyways - somehow - to the public. We dread that day.
As I join Kristy in watching Claudia, one our best friends, writhing in fighting against the strong will of her muscle spasms that's racking her entire body, - fighting against the surging compel of her natural tendencies - I wax wistfully at the embodiment of true friendship in her. Even though everything in her - mind and body - is screaming for her to bite and feast on each of us (and probably everybody here) of which would morph us into one of her, she fiercely holds back. Now what's holding her back? Even though all of whom that have been afflicted with this curse - certainly transformation - have seemingly always given their will and volition up to the control of this disease and acted according to its dictates, but not our Claudia.
We still bring her on these outings even though it's risky, because we know how much it means to her.
And how much she means to us.