Written 3.8.14

My name is short for something I am not. I am not delicate like Abigail, like someone who obeys rules or drinks with her pinky in the air. I am Abbey, someone who eats with their fingers and gets into trouble.

I am stronger than Abigail, though I am the part of Abigail that my father is proud of. I am the churches in Ireland, and I am tough. Saying my name sounds strong, like two staccato notes from the mouth of an instrument.

My name is rebellious, for it goes against tradition. It is not Abby, nor Abbie, and somehow that makes me rebellious. I am different, because I do not follow any paths set before me by my ancestors. I am not Donna, I am not Dolores.

If I had a sister, I bet her name would be something like Lacey or Beatrice. Girl names. But I am not a stereotypical girl. I don't paint my nails, or wear perfume. I play sports, and mow the lawn like my brother Cole. Abbey seems to be on the line between. Someone like me, who plays Call of Duty but never passes up a trip to the mall.

I see my name as a blessing, something I can cherish and paint my own colors. It can be lavender and rose like Abigail, or blue and brown like Cole. My goal is to have a rainbow name by the end of my days, something that cannot be forgotten, that I am someone covered in scars, laugh lines, and full of memories.