Nicknames

Yo Elijah Muhammad number 4,

Nicknames have always been a big part of my life. I was always given a bunch of them when I was younger. My teachers always made rhythmic or fun ones for me that put a bit of groove into my foot and a smile in my heart. The cream of the crop was Tony Liu with a new pair of shoes and Tony Liu from Kalamazoo. When I’d walk into a class with Mr. Powell or Mr. J, I would be serenaded with their powerful and silly voices. Looking back at it, I am always thankful for them trying to make class fun for everyone.

On another note, there were two Tonys in my grade. I was always given Tony Liu which made me feel nice as the other Tony only got Krawly or Kralavec. There I realized that sometimes nicknames weren’t the best thing in the world. Nonetheless, it inspired me to give nicknames to others as they came to me. Bad or good, the stuff I used caught on. 

My first victim was the Egg. To a certain extent, I found that people around me were changing during high school. The people I hung out with started to break apart as they were introduced to the idea of a girlfriend. As my freshman year passed by, my friend group of 20 started to have less and less time together as girls started to take the guys' time. Hating the idea of change, I started to abhor the idea of people leaving and having their own life. I had just finally started to hang out with people frequently after being quite isolated during my early years, which is a story for another time. To a certain extent, I was seething with fear of loss so I unconsciously started to focus my emotions on a focal point. It was my friend’s girlfriend Leonard. 

One day the group was hanging out during lunchtime. It was in the Izzo Mariucci Center where the cafeteria was attached to the gym. It was a square floor with two walls of windows with a waffle of black support beams behind the glass. Through the windows, you could see the red brick exterior and gray concrete sidewalks neatly patterned around the building. Inside were sharp hexagonal tables large enough to sit ten to twelve people if we squished together. On the other end of the windows that reflected the polished floor tiles of breccia, were the concession stand with a metal curtain, lifting room entrance, and multiple display cases filled with merch and trophies. This was a place of pride, steel, and rock-like strength. This room is a testament to my city’s name Iron Mountain. This was the perfect place for me to strike. 

We often had to stitch tables together to make sure that no one was left out of the group. This made me an audience that I could work with. When everyone was in place and the time was right, when hot lunch people and cold lunch people converged, I took my stance. My muscles tensed, my brows were furrowed, my chest puffed with air, and I pointed at her with my forearm slightly raised above my bicep. I stared down at the sight of my hand which is the space between my unfurled index and collapsed thumb. I shouted, “Egg!”

My nicknames stick. I have only branded one person with what I would call a curse. The others I find myself giving with a different feeling. You learn a lot of things as you live throughout your life. The way I give nicknames has changed over the years. Sometimes I go back to my previous methods. For example, I name some people how I think they look. I think John looks like a Paul, Jonathan looks like a Thomas, and how Nathan… whoops I mean Reed looks like a Nathan. The one thing I will never go back on and use is the feeling of hate I had. Well, all I can say is that the Egg is cooked.