Names are important things to me. Nicknames in particular. As someone who has struggled for years to come to terms with her - let's face it - masculine sounding name, I'm perhaps maybe a little too sensitive to what people call me. Or maybe its just that after having countless people get the S and D keys confused, I'm a little bit touchy when it comes to people calling me "David". I can't help it - who calls me what is very, very important to me. Always have, always will. The subject of nicknames has rarely come up. It's usually worked out so that the few people who do have nicknames for me slip into the habit naturally, and half the time I don't notice. Other people have been calling me these names for so long that I don't even blink twice. But sometimes - and it happens - someone calls me "Davey" and I feel like something breaks in the universe. It's wrong, it's unnatural, it's weird, it's... kind of nice, sometimes.
My family calls me "Dave". This seems pretty natural - after all, I am a girl and "Dave" is generally confined to only males. It makes for some interesting looks in grocery stores, but otherwise doesn't come up once. My mother never calls me Dave. My step-mother does. My dad's side of the family doesn't call me Dave. My mom's does. That's how it goes. It's the way it's always been. I have had two friends in my entire life who have called me Dave. Raquel and Chanti, easily two of the strongest friendships I've had in my life. Both are now more or less over (Raquel moved away and I see her less and less each year - the last time was two years ago, and we sat on my bed and talked for hours and hours until she went home; Chanti and mine's friendship ended with a dramatic fight and a "I can't speak to you right now, or else I'll say something I'll regret and ruin any chance of being friends with you ever again" that hasn't gone away yet) but both were incredibly important to me.
"Davey" is the obvious nickname. I mean, it's easy enough. And a Y to it, and there it is! Good as new, and exciting. For years only Sarah Lee-Johnson, my first ever friend, when I was about three, or so, called me Davey. That was the way it was. Raquel might have done it a few times, but generally, it was reserved for Sarah only. Then I became best friends with Chanti, and, sort've, Ali. They both called me Davey, and I let them, because it was special. It made sense that they would call me Davey, because they were my closest friends, and, well, duh.
Now that those friendships are over, I'm left wondering who calls me anything anymore. Sarah (not L-J) calls me Davey, occasionally. Graham does, too, when he's saying, "Oh, Davey" in that "I don't know whether to laugh or cry" tone. Occasionally other friends call me Davey, but it never really comes of anything. Just a blip.
And he calls me Davey, and every time he does, it feels wrong. The word, coming from his lips, seems alien to me. My mind can't comprehend it - each time he says it, I take a step back. It jolts me out of whatever mindset I'm in, and makes me stare at him. It flies off his tongue so readily, so easily, that it takes me a few seconds to register it. But by then, he's already off, doing something else, not paying attention to me.
I want him to stop calling me that. I feel like he's taking something to symolizes a deep, meaningful, important relationship and spitting on it, by using it so casually. But, some days, I like it. I can pretend that I mean something to him, and that he means something to me, beyond a cunt and a cock. But that that scares me, naturally, and I try to avoid it as much as possible. Sometimes I like to think that he knows it's important to me, and what exactly it means, and he's doing it on purpose. Which is compeltely mental, I know. But sometimes it's nice to pretend.
So next time we're alone, I'll ask him to stop. Tell him that only my best friends have called me that and it weirds me out that he says it.
As for you, you guys can call me Magpie.
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