Savvy and Poogles

Despite recent events, I have 2 very good girls. This, however, is not one of them. This is one of my "adopted" daughters, my oldest daughter's, Savvy, best friend Poogles. (They all have nicknames for each other.)

Savvy recently had an assignment in English to write an essay and she choose to write about her friend, Poogles. She got a 100 on the paper and it was so well written, and frankly, I wish I could friend something to eloquent about my best friend or have someone write something this nice about me.

I have to share what she wrote........

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POOGLES

I call her Poogles. Poogles, a name that when called through a crowd receives confused looks and strange expressions. It's such an odd, silly name for such a serious girl. The name Poogles came from a sound, a way she spoke one day. It was a high, gurgling voice that makes me laugh whenever I can pressure her into speaking it. Poogles, a silly name for a silly sound. Her real name is Leslie. I have known Leslie since I first moved from rural Sampson County to urban Apex.

She was my first friend in the city. The very first. You see, she rode the same bus as me so it was on the way to school that I met her. She was reading a Tamora Pierce book, the same authoress of the book I was readying when I met her. We both noticed the similarities between us. Both of us were lanky, little 7th graders with glasses perched on the ends of our noses. Messy brown hair sticking up and out of our hair ties. Both of us had a book perched on our laps. It was as if fate herself made us meet each other's eyes from across the aisle of the bus.

Leslie, just hearing her name calms me down and helps me get through the day. She is my pillar, my rational mind. She's the hand that stops me from walking into a street and into a car. She's the voice that warns me of the consequences. She's my partner in crime and my fellow adventurer. She's the sister I wish I had. She's always been there for me. Whenever I'm sick she risks a visit to cheer me up. Whenever I need help she is the first to lend her hand. When I do good she's one of the first to praise me, but should I do bad she's the very first to call me stupid. She's always the first. The one that seems to know the second I fall down so she can help me up.

After my family life went straight to hell, she was the one I could cry to. Where I have to be strong for others, she enables me to be weak. She knows my most vulnerable stare and my deepest secrets. She's the mother for when I'm a child. That doesn't mean she can't be a little childish sometimes, she does have her weak points. She's naturally argumentative. She's bossy and controlling. She's so proper sometimes it's almost borderline prudish. However, for all her bad qualities her good one's outshine them.

She's my friend and sister. She's my shoulder angel and inner demon. She's the hand that holds me up and her fist that knocks me down. We've always been there for each other and will always be there forever. She's my heart. She's my Leslie. She's my Poogles.

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