Names

“...It is nor hand, nor foot, nor arm, nor face, nor any other part belonging to a man. O, be some other name! What’s in a name? That which we call a rose by any other name would smell as sweet:....” William Shakespeare

Having been housebound like the rest of the world, I have relied heavily on the telephone and Zoom, reaching out to my good friends and family scattered all over this great big earth. After one quite heavy day of calls, I had a moment, where I realized that my dear friends, people that have “sewn” me into the fabric of their lives and I, them into mine, do not call me by my name. Not that it bothers me at all, or that I have a great affinity for my name, I do not. Even early on, I never liked my name at all, but at some point, I gave in and declared a truce. Nor are any of the names I am called unwelcome; they are all terms of endearment, of love, of familiarity, way beyond the casual acquaintance. They make me smile, feel comforted and connected, they are warm and fuzzy, funny, and I immediately know them, who they are to me, who they connect me to. But still I wondered, more out of curiosity than anything else, why doesn’t anyone use my real name? And even when they do, it is never the simple quick two syllable pronunciation. It usually sounds like Ray Liotta in the 1990 film “Goodfellas” when he calls out to his wife, “Karen” (Lorraine Bracco), in the kitchen with the sauce - and yes, it is sauce, not gravy - like a drawn out sing songy whine - and if you skipped that movie, I strongly suggest you add that to your watch list. But I digress and also date myself…..

These are names borne to me as a result of a particular moment shared. That only I and the person using it would know. Frivolous things, things laughed about, moments that hold a shared piece of time, a shared experience, a welcome into the family, a lifelong membership to belong; names like “Wilton”, “Jeremaaaaiiiiiaaahhh”, “Zia”, “Frances”, “Spaghetts”, “Ms. Bolognese” - emphasis on the “Ms.” or just plain “Bolognese”. There is “Sis”, “Belle”, “Hair Goddess” - this, by my beautiful salon Goddess who I refer to as the “Hair Whisperer”, “Miss Karen”, which I have been getting alot down here in the south and of course, “Princess Yam” - yeah, don’t ask. And let me not forget the pet names used in my relationships, all of which I won’t share here but the two that meant everything to me: “Baby Girl” and “My Girl”. So, you could imagine my reaction when any of these lovely amazing people would divert from their norm and actually use my real name; it was rare but when it happened it was like a shock, so foreign to my ears, reserved for use only when they needed my full and serious attention. I would snap to, literally; It sounded like I was in a world of trouble and I usually was…….

So here I am, at a furniture store trying to purchase an additional dresser to the set I already have - for some reason, my new home is shorted closet space that I have been used to in my past dwellings, where I wasn’t living out of suitcases and yes, I am sure it is not because I have over stocked my wardrobe since then. As I made my way into the store, one of the many masked sales people walked up to me and asked me if I needed help and of course I said yes. I explained to him what I was looking for and showed him the name of the furniture. He recognized it immediately and replied, “I can help you with that! My name is Ace.” to which I replied, “Good, because, Ace, you and I are going to become best friends. I’m Karen”, and he proceeded to walk me to the back of the store where the set was arranged on the floor. Of course the piece I was looking for wasn’t displayed and after much digging on his part, he found it was a custom piece that had to be ordered and would take 3 to 4 months to come in. Sigh, of course it would……

So in need of other furniture, he left me to my own perusing, gave me his cell number and told me to text, call or find him if I had any questions or needed him. Thanks Ace!

But that name did not quite feel right coming out of my mouth nor did I feel that I should be calling him by that name. Focus! After finding several other pieces needed for my new home, I was back with Ace, at his station, so he could enter the order, among other things and I could pay. And so we got to talking; he asked me a lot of personal questions which I answered and then before I could stop myself, I asked him just one. “What is your real name? I know it isn’t Ace?”

He chuckled. “No it is not, Ace is a nickname I use.”

“But why don’t you use your real name?” I asked kindly, but then was it me that asked? At that moment I didn’t feel like I was the one actually talking, I was listening to me speaking and I was hoping it would stop. It didn’t.

He told me he didn’t use his real name because people didn’t hear it right, remember it or pronounce it right. It was just easier to use Ace, his nickname.

(Don’t I know that; my last name has been fodder forever)

And of course I asked again, “So, what is your real name?”

“Adriss”, he replied, “It’s Adriss.”

“Adriss. Am I pronouncing that right?” I asked with my Long Island New Jersey peppered twang.

“Yes and I like the way you say it with that accent.” Now I was chuckling.

“Well it is good to meet you Adriss. You know, you should use your real name. Your mother gave you that name and I don’t think she would be too happy that you aren’t using it.”

“I know”, he replied in a bit of surprise, “My mother tells me that all the time.”

“See,” I said back to him with a laugh.

But forget about him, “See” came right back at me later on, smack in the middle of my head, twofold. The first realization was that for those that know me, you know that there wasn’t any love loss between myself and my mother. And now I “See”. In all my time growing up I didn’t like my name at all; My mother gave it to me and then used it to show her scorn of me. Maybe when I was finally ok with my name, it was because I had finally made it all my own and she no longer had claim to any of it or any of me. But it is the second realization, which has just arrived at this writing and has answered my curious mind. Hah…….

“Ace” was the nickname of my ‘OTP’, One True Person; due to circumstances at the time, we could not be together and eventually I think he just found it easier to let go of all contact. It was his nickname, just not the only one I called him by, having created my own for him, born out of the precious moments we shared. I could never call anyone else by that name. Ever. It belongs to him and is part of that great thread that keeps us sewn together.

And so in parting, all of the names that I am called are, in essence, the different pieces of me to all of those that created them - they are our defining connection we share together - the tie that binds us. I love them all dearly and would never want to hear anything else coming from them. These are my names, who I am and have become a part of, tied to. And to them, I always answer. Only to myself, I call “Karen”.

“Got Names?”