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 somnolent 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 can imagine myself in a long white lab coat in a
sterile, antiseptic-smelling lab, everything my parents hope I will be. Or I
could be sitting at a rustic wooden writing desk in a cozy attic, jotting away
in a thick notebook. I see myself taller, stronger, more confident, a new
person. I could be a diver in a fluorescent mask soaring undersea with
translucent, colorful gems of jellyfish in the dark cold of the bottom of an
endless ocean. I could be fitted into a reflective, blank space suit and a
visor tinted until my face is just a shadow, one nameless astronaut standing on
the surface of a faraway moon, holding an American flag, red, white, and blue shining
in a strange new sun and mixing in an alien breeze. I could be anything, a
grown adult bearing just a shred of my teenage identity. But I will bear my
name. I will always bear Alex.
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.
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