Carrie

As I was driving home last night after hanging out with my friend Ryan at the pub I thought about my name. I like when people say it. Maybe that's weird, but I like the gentle way the syllables end in the name Carrie. Sometimes it doesn't sound like a name at all, or that it belongs to me but a sweet chocolate that I'm being offered. I haven't always liked the name Carrie, or my last name Bunker for that matter.

Being younger a name like Carrie Bunker fit quite well to a small dumpy little girl that kind of hobbled from one place to another. The same little girl that was shy, quiet and never really liked wearing her sears pants over her serving bowl shaped belly. If Bunker was a sound, I only imagined it as deep bass drum pounding every time one of my tiny feet hurled my monstrous body. Bunk-er, Bunk-er each ring as I made my way from the pencil sharpener to my desk. I soon found that it was something every kid could imagine to spur jokes and whispers. I found my own personal nightmare being an actual reality as I would look under my desk in the middle of history to see drums strapped to my white keds.
"Mom, how did I get my name?"
"Your brother gave you your name. At first your father and I were going to name you Shawna. Then Ryan wanted to call you Carrie so we decided that it fit you better."
Steam filled my head and for years after that short conversation I secretly loathed my brother Ryan for butting his not needed opinion about what my name should be. I could have been a shawna. For a while I would make my group of friends to call me Shawna in hopes of naturally having it adjust itself, like a mistake that would eventually work itself out. Of course, this never lasted because of short memory spans and the fact I was too lazy for correction.
Around Junior High, when I was going through the awkward stage of periods and lipstick, I still had dreams of being a Shawna. Day dreaming of what a Shawna would resemble I conjured up a person that was self confident, ready to take on the world and who was incredibly sexy. At least a girl that always had the latest lip gloss and would be surrounded by boys who looked like Justin Taylor Thomas at her locker while she fixed her hair. Sitting at a desk in overalls and a looney tunes shirt, I thought that there is no way a Carrie would resemble sexy. I would let the name Shawna ring in my head, often like a jazzy tune, wild and sure of where it was going.
Needless to say my name dwelling has been over for quite a while. Almost reaching my house I understand that the name Carrie now has a hopeful sound. A tiny bell that is faint and sweet ringing from a distance past phalen park and 35E. In stead of a gorgeous, popular sex object I had always dreamed of myself being, it is nice to come to the conclusion that I really like the modest ring. A name that could change things maybe, quietly.