WRITING: the christinas

Christina and I lived together in the dorms our freshman year of college and shared an apartment our sophomore year. While we ended up hating each other when we lived together, now we are fine and get together for dinner every Thursday.

This piece was written for my Creative Nonfiction class in college. Christina and I took this class together. This was a writing exercise; I forget the prompt, but the class laughed.

The Christinas

God knows how the two of us ended up with the same name. Whatever the name “Christina” means or connotates with me is definitely not the same as with her. The Christinas, people call us as if sharing a name blends two people into one. We don’t look, live, or act alike really in any way, but somehow that identical name makes us duplicates or melded together. Are the Christinas here? Do the Christinas have a comment? What do the Christinas think? teachers ask us. What if we don’t have a collective opinion? Do we then have to stop and consult each other to form one? We are still two separate people with two different minds.

Are you sisters? people have asked us. What? We don’t even resemble each other at all, Christina freakishly tall and slender, me shorter, “thick,” with big boobs. We are almost the same age; we would have to be twins. We couldn’t even pass as fraternal. But more importantly, what parents would be so cruel as to name both their daughters Christina? This isn’t George Forman we’re talking about here. Come on, people.

Christina moved into our dorm room in the middle of fall semester freshman year. Sarah met her and said she looked like a cross between my ditzy friend from high school and my sister, and she had my name. I was worried. I didn’t meet her myself for several days. I heard her in the hall as I was waking up for class and opened my door.

“Hi, I’m Christina,” she said.

“I’m Christina,” I replied and shut the door.

I am not a morning person, and it was too early to be polite. Unfortunately, after that meeting, it took Christina weeks to come out of her room and be social with us. She was scared she had a bookworm and a bitch for her roommates. That gradually faded away as the three of us bonded and became Sarah and the Christinas. It sounds like an oldies group. Then Sarah left, and I was terrified that another Christina would take her place. I could not handle three Christinas, but thankfully it ended up being a hermit named Kona.

After Christina and I started hanging out regularly, neither one of us wanted to be introduced second. Hello, I’m Christina. Oh, I’m also Christina. I’m Christina too. It felt so unoriginal to follow with the same name, like you were copying the other. But what the hell could you do? Our parents chose the names.

Also, people often think that when I talk about Christina, I am talking in the third person. Christina got that at the store. What? You’re Christina. Are you talking about yourself in the third person? No. The other Christina. Many of them even know of the existence of the other Christina, even that we shared an apartment. She has the same problem.

We have tried to remedy this issue. Nicknames don’t work. Both of us answer to almost anything that starts with “Chris” – Chris, Krystal, Christi, Christine, Christmas – and loathe being called Tina. It all sounds about the same and doesn’t fix much of anything. Our next attempt was the “Christina 1 and Christina 2” system. It seemed like a good idea; one of us is number 1; the other is number 2. No, no, not so simple. Around my people, naturally, I was Christina 1, yet with Christina’s friends, she became number 1. It switched back and forth with no real consistency until we were like, wait, who am I again? Middle names are also impossible; Christina doesn’t have one. Hello, please call me Marie, and this is Blank. CMB and CM. Nothing can be easy.

The phone has always been entertaining though. When we shared an apartment, phone calls always went, Is Christina there? Which one?, or Is this Christina? Um, yes and maybe no. It got interesting to answer each other’s cellphones. Yes, this is Christina but not the one you’re calling. No, this is the other Christina. I once tormented a telemarketer for a good ten minutes when he called for a Christina but didn’t have a last name.

“Is Christina there?”

“Which one?”

“Excuse me?”

“There are two Christinas. Which one?”

“Um, the older one.”

“They’re about the same age. Which one?”

“The one whose name is on the lease.”

“They’re both on the lease.”

“Ok, the one who pays the bills.”

“They both pay the bills. Which one?”

“Um, ok. Does one have a credit card?”

“Yeah, but she’s not home.”

Click! Good times. What telemarketer calls without a last name, seriously? He had it coming.

Basically, we are eternally doomed to be The Christinas. It’s human laziness at its very best. Why say two names when you can blend two friends into one title? Why distinguish when you can combine together? It’s unavoidable though. There are millions of Christinas out there. They have haunted me since elementary school, stealing and sharing my name in class. Christ, we even have to be linked to Christina Aguilera. They used to call me that when I worked at Tinseltown. God, no. Either way, this cursed name-sharing has given us plenty to laugh and bitch about.