Prologue - Our Story
pro·logue /ˈprōˌlôg/
noun
an introduction leading up to future events
I guess in this story, this is the ‘prologue’. This is where I introduce a bunch of important places, people, and set the setting for the rest of the story. No pressure.
For starters, my name is Cara. Not originally. My parents thought that Carolyn would be a good name choice. A name as graceful and charming as “Carolyn” would insure their firstborn daughter (and only child) would have grace and charm. Well, they thought wrong. I’m not at all graceful and charming, and the name really never fit me. I abbreviated the name to “Cara” all by myself in fifth grade. Cara means friendly. It suit me better I think. Josh thinks so too.
Josh. The other important element in this story. He’s the one that helped me invent the nickname in fifth grade. It was the first day of school and the computer class teacher sat us next to each other. When the teacher called role, she called me by my dreaded name, “Carolyn”. Josh turned to face me. “You’re name’s Carolyn?” “Unfortunately,” I rolled my eyes. “What? You don’t like ‘Carolyn’?” he had laughed. I shook my head. “Hate it,” I admitted. “Then change it.” “You can do that?” “I don’t see why not.”
The assignment that day was to learn how to use search engines like google and yahoo to help us with our research project we’d be working on throughout the year. Josh and I, however, decided to use google and yahoo to find nicknames for “Carolyn”. “Carol?” he whispered. I shook my head. “Gross.” “Okay. What about Carrie?” he asked. I guess he could tell by the disgusted expression on my face because I didn’t even have to say anything before he laughed and said, “Okay. Not Carrie.” After a few more minutes of pretending to research while really looking up nicknames, he had another suggestion. “Well what about Cara?” “Cara?” “Yeah. It says here it’s a name from Ireland, and means ‘friendly’.” “I like Cara,” I admitted sheepishly. “Alright. Then your new name is officially Cara.”
“JOSHUA HUTCHERSON. Quit your talking and work on your assignment!” the teacher yelled from the back of the classroom. Josh turned so that she couldn’t see him and rolled his eyes. “Joshua?” I asked. “No. I hate that name. My mom only yells it at me if I’m in trouble,” He laughed. “Call me Josh.” “Josh,” I smiled back at him. “I like that much better.”
It was that day in the fifth grade that I met my best friend. Josh, the one who hated being called Joshua, who saved me from growing up to be Carolyn. Josh, the one who’d save me from many, many things down the road, even though I’d never admit I needed saving. This is the story of me and that Josh.
