1989: "Nice to meet you! Mind if I call you Alex?"
And that person introduces me to others as Alex.
When I was most alive, I was Alex. I was in college. I was alive. I was immature, passionate, giggling and naive. Of course, I thought I was terribly savvy. I was, after all, the daughter of a yuppie hobo, a feminist success story, a hardliner with a mission. I had a heritage to live up to. But ultimately, I was just plain silly. I met a guy who made my heart sing and I learned more about Jack Kerouac than any living American really needs to know. And life was good. That was Alex.
But Alex graduated. And Alex got a job. And Alex was taken under the wing of a woman she worked for who started to affectionately call her Lexi. It caught on.
And Alex died. And was gone.