Not
Too Common, But Common Enough
In Greek my
name means “protector of mankind.” I don’t know why, since my full name,
Alexandra, is flowery, elaborate and pastel pink. It sounds
like a garden in the spring, maybe in April, or a candy-colored Easter egg. The
sound of Alexandra lingers like the spring rains, slowing and quieting, but
persistent. It tastes like a sugar cube slowly dissolving in your mouth, like a
picnic in a golden field in the sweet heart of summer. Alexandra is a melodic
name, but it is almost too sonant for me. What suits me much better is Alex. It
is like a flash of chartreuse, like a watch keeping time, like a river noisily
and swiftly flowing over rocks. A name said in friendship, eating apples high
in the slender boughs of a tree, blossoms just in reach. It is sharp, lively,
and succinct. I always go by Alex.
My
parents didn’t name me after anyone, as the story goes. They searched online
for a name for their baby. They found Alexandra. Not too common, but common
enough, they say. My middle name, Rose,
belonged to Rosalind Franklin, a famous scientist. She was strong and brave and
smart. The credit for her discoveries went to men after her death. She died
young, of cancer. As my mother says, the men get the credit, and the women get
the cancer. She says this every time she talks about scientists. I don’t want
to die young. But I don’t mind having her name. I want to be strong, and brave,
and smart. Sometimes I wonder if I will be great someday, too.
I
have been Alex for so long, I don’t know what else I would call myself. Some
days I feel Alexandra, but most days I feel Alex. Alex is a part of me that has
slowly grown, wrapping its arms tightly around me like an old friendship
bracelet, faded, but strong with memories. I wouldn’t be myself by any other
name. I need that river, that flash of chartreuse, that apple frozen in time.
Those belong to me.
