Pocket full of sunshine

In my last post I mentioned that I quit cheerleading a few times. At one point I was afraid of competition, at another I had just had enough, but what I didn't mention was that through all of it, I was never particularly good at it. I mean, I got by, but, having never been a dancer or exceptionally coordinated, I was usually one of the last to learn the cheers, and when I did, was often half a move behind everyone else.

Exhibit A:

Possibly the best thing cheerleading brought me, however, was my friend Miya.

She joined the squad my sophomore year, and we immediately gravitated to each other, became fast friends. We'd spend time before practice ogling wrestlers in the gym, and time after practice making friends with the bad boys from adjacent towns. Despite all the high school debauchery, however, what I liked most about Miya was that she was one of the most normal, down to earth girls I knew, a breath of fresh air from some of the personalities on our cheering squad.

We lost touch for a few years during college; then, in 2001, we were randomly reconnected in New York. We were back to spending weekends together, be it in the Manhattan clubs where she worked as a bartender, or in the Hamptons where she worked the scene. She seemingly knew everyone, or at least knew how to befriend everyone, what with ten feet of personality packed prettily into a five foot frame.

So imagine my excitement when she moved to LA a year after I did. I had built a bit of a social circle here by that point, but most of those were new friends, having known me for a few months, or, at most, a few years. Having her here was like heaving a sigh of relief; I didn't have to audition so much for friends anymore, or tell stories from adolescence no one could quite understand. She knew me back when I wore braces and teased my bangs and, god help her, liked me anyway. For the first time since I moved 3,000 miles away, I finally felt completely at home.

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