Bridget Rambeau was the most popular girl in elementary school; Princess of the Playground, Gerent of the Jungle Gym, Sovereign of the Swings, Countess of the Cafeteria, and early on in our school years she claimed the perfect lunch spot--this small part of lawn that ran next to a cement walk way, ideal because you could sit on the cement but with your feet on the grass--for her and her royal court.

I'm still not sure why, but we loathed one another. Now, Bridget was popular in the "Mean Girls" sense of the word, while I was popular in the knowing-and-being-friends-with-just-about-anyone-and-everyone sense. I was perfectly comfortable and able to spend one day sitting with the "cool kids" and the next day hanging out with the "loners." It made no difference to me, as I found aspects of my friendships with all of them enjoyable. (I've always had a talent for adjusting those bits of my personality that shine through depending on the type of people I am around, without trying or pretending to be someone I'm not.)

Anyway, point is that we hated each other. We could sit together and play together and be civil toward one another, but deep down, we never doubted that we were not friends. I don't recall ever sparring with Bridget verbally, physically, or via the gossip highways, but somehow we both knew that we were nemeses.


After not talking or interacting with Bridget at all for two years, we somehow managed to become best of friends in the 8th grade. Such good friends that on her half-birthday--the day before my half-birthday--I baked her half of a cake to celebrate, and she did the same for me. It was a very nice friendship, though we lost touch after moving on to high school (it can happen when you go to school with 4000 other people), and I often catch myself wondering what my ex-nemesis and ex-best friend is up to these days.