Nicknames

We all had nicknames in high school. Whether it be an abridged version of a longer name, a name for a jock, a goth, or a loser, you could always spot these names being tossed back and fourth in the hallways of the institution. Nicknames are usually developed out of some sort of look or trait: a dweeb wearing glasses would be a “four-eyes,” the fastest runner on the track team would be “Rocket,” and the popular tramp of the school would get the well deserved “cum-dumpster.” I too was branded a nickname, but instead of receiving it from my peers, I created mine out a daily routine.
It happened to me one of my first few days of 9th grade. I had just transferred into a small school located on the top floors of a large building that was once a warehouse. This modern version of a high school offered loft-sized windows and stunning views of Lake Superior and it’s lovely lakeside city of Duluth. Every day I would glance out these windows and wish for an escape out of the boredom of being a friendless new-girl, but my salvation didn’t come until I realized the potential that these windows had.
Alone in a room, I looked out one of these windows and planted my face flat on them. I pulled back my head and noticed the substantial grease smear that my face left behind. There was a ghostly figure starring back at me, and I had just created an imaginary friend.
Rushed with excitement for my newfound artwork, I began again at making oily figures on every inch of glass in the room. Flared nostrils, smashed skin, and the occasional spit mark dotted the serine landscape of Lake Superior. But I did not stop there. After there was no more room for duplications overlooking the lake, I went to the opposite side of the school and set my troops to takeover and blur the overview of the city.
I was cautious in my practice not to get caught, but a few days after my marks appeared, a girl named Emily entered into the room where she saw me in the act of taking pleasure over the facial grease that I was leaving behind on the windows. I was instantly ashamed, but was surprised at the lack of shock this girl projected. Instead she was curious, and after a round of simple questions she asked if she could “join in the fun.”
So I had a partner in crime, which would mean that when the questions would arise as to who created these marks on the windows, I would not be alone. We would band together and agree at how disgusting it was while simultaneously laughing at our fiendish deeds. Emily quickly became my best friend, and together we formed a term for our regular practice. We called it “greasing” and from that, both Emily and mine’s nickname became “Grease.”
Only long after fresh marks stopped appearing on the windows, did Emily’s nickname and mine become known to the rest of the school. No one really knew why people called us “Grease”, and as I glanced over “Four-Eyes” and “Rocket’s” shoulder at the perfectly oiled mark on the far window, did I know that I would never tell.