On June 13th, I always wish a "Happy Birthday" to Esther Howe Sharpe. I think there's an "e" on "Sharpe." I could be wrong. It has been a very long time.
Esther and I were friends in high school. She was (is) three days older than I. I was a year ahead of her because I skipped third grade (don't ask). Through maybe my 10th grade year, we were about the same height, and some of her clothes were a lot like some of mine, so we sometimes dressed alike.
Things changed the following year, and I grew a bit, especially in the hands and feet, and she grew in places I wished I could. We sort of drifted apart.
The summer I turned 16, I was allowed to date Nicky Robinson. Now, mind you, "dating" then did not carry the connotation it does nowadays. Dating was dating. A movie, a drive in burger, and home by midnight in his dad's car. I did get my first kiss from Nicky, and he kept checking to make sure I didn't leave any lipstick on his face. Didn't make me feel real special, as I wasn't wearing any, but there you go.
Anyway, Nicky's best friend was a boy called John Sharpe. Where Nicky was tall and gangley, John was more compact, and looked very English, with high colouring and thick light brown hair. All of a sudden Esther was once again my bestest friend.
For some reason, one day we were all over at her house, and she brought out the lovely high heels she had been given to wear as a bridesmaid in her older sister's wedding and insisted I try them on. I felt very uncomfortable, because I knew I couldn't get my foot into her shoe. Nevertheless, Esther always got her way, and I wound up feeling like Cinderella's ugly sister in front of my boyfriend and hers. It rankled.
Her sister's fiancé was an RCMP officer, and Esther was a willing pupil for all sorts of hand-to-hand combat. Guess who got to be her punching bag? Yup. Got it in one.
What can I say? I was a wuss. Until the Day. It was Sports Day of my Senior year; her Junior. I was walking down the deserted hall, and she came running up behind me and jabbed me in the kidney really hard with her stiff knuckles. She had no reason to believe I would do anything--lord knows, I never had before. But, I had HAD IT! In spades! I spun around and slapped her across the face, hard enough to leave a welt on her cheek.
Then, of course, reverting to form, I burst into tears and ran off.
With little heart for the competition on the field, I was quickly eliminated and went to sit in a little stand of trees at the far end of the school grounds. There, Esther found me, and proffered half a stick of Juicyfruit gum. I accepted the peace offering, and nothing else was ever said.
Graduation was three weeks later, and I have never seen her since. I heard she married John. I hope she has been happy, and I hope she got over her bullying ways.
Happy Birthday, Esther!
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