About my Co-Butterball

I thought at the time that butterball was a type of dessert or something sticky and delicious that exists outside my imagination. I later learned that it was a brand of turkey. Either way, the sound of the name butterball never left and it eventually became a term of endearment that Erin and I had for each other.

Erin is my Co-Butterball. In grade school, everybody knew her as 'that (technically) Canadian citizen' with the high-pitched voice and a fast talker. In fifth grade, her daily snack consisted of butter sandwich placed in a square Tupperware container, a drink (presumably orange juice as we knew of no other beverage than this) in, of course, a Tupperware tumbler. Both are placed inside, no, not a Tupperware bag or anything like that, but a pink Ajinomoto basket.

Pink would become her color, stuck on her forehead like a 'loser' sign. In high school, she would forever be remembered for two things - her pink Conasaurs (high cut, even) and her PMT number during roll call: zero seventy eight, executed with such a flourish with that startling shriek of a voice. I would personally remember her during those years as the poor soul who was the victim of a certain bitch's publicized sartorial opinions (the bitch would have to be me), specifically the debate on the merits of wearing high heels with sport socks on one Friday civilian day. But then I got to taste her chicken roulade one school trip and I never looked back. (Seriously, we started to become good friends way before that.)

In college, she had a boyfriend who her mother didn't like for her. Or at least her mother did a good job out of discouraging her from marrying said boy. When we'd be together in BioSci, my sister's friends who hang out in the area would hate us for pieces for talking the way we talked, as if we were blissfully unaware of the 'rest of the human race.'

My Co-Butterball then went on to become a medical doctor. She could have been an engineer, this being what she would have wanted. She could have been many things. If her career options are to be spread out across several lifetimes, they would all be equally performed to splendid extents. Curiously, it was only recently that she came to terms with her chosen profession. I know it was not easy but I stand by her on her being able to make peace with this.

I rarely get to see my Co-Butterball these days. I am only allowed once a year to do that (even once every two years) and the rare phone call. But her honesty, guts and goodness is forever seared in my memory. (I can hear her high-pitched voice right now.)

So Co-Butterball, you're booking another year. How about that? Happy birthday, sweetheart.