T. Cobbs

You are one of my oldest friends. One of three that I even know still exist on the planet. My memory sucks, so the elementary years are blurry. I vaguely remember spending the night and always being the first to fall asleep, the fact that your family only had one television and it was tiny and I am pretty sure lacking cable, and that the staircase to your basement made me really uncomfortable. Then in 3rd grade I moved to Canada.
Fast forward to 7th grade when I moved back to the ATL. It was the peek of the grunge trend and I can still see you in your ripped jeans, Beatles shirt, converse and long brown hair. I was probably wearing a Puma tracksuit and my Nanny's Walmart runners, (all popular in Canada), and you were one of the VERY few people who were nice to me despite the physical disaster I know I appeared to be. You took me in immediately, sharing your secrets about boys and friends and life. You had really good girlfriends, but instead of making me feel like I was imposing on those relationships, you always made me feel like I was benefiting them. You made me feel a part of the strange new world I had come back to in the USA. Then I moved to the suburbs, and we kept in touch as well as any 14 year olds would.
Fast forward to 10th grade, when I begged my mom to let me attend Grady. This is the time I remember you most. You welcomed me right back into your life and circle of friends as if I had never left. I remember passing notes and lunch in the courtyard praying to God Anthony Devingo would like me. Skipping class to drive to Jasper seeking lost love, and writing a catchy tune about all of it. Little 5 Pizza after school were I could sit and watch Brad, the pizza boy whom I was hopelessly in "love" with. When he moved to a new location you would even accompany me there to see him...although it is much more obvious you are spying someone in a clothes store than a restaurant. I always loved being at your house, your family always reminded me of the Leave it to Beaver family. Your mom was beautiful and funny, your dad was always making cookies and taking out the trash. I loved you people. You always wanted to do the right thing. You always lifted me up. You always smiled and had something positive to say.
I miss you Tracey Cobbs. I know that is not your last name anymore and I hate that the fact that you have a new last name is really the only thing I know about you and your adult life. I would put money on the fact that you are just as wonderful and funny and talented now as you ever were- and I wish I was a part of it.

Love and Crunkness on the Red Dot,
Amanda Palmer