Zoya

Punky and spunky, petite and opinionated. Dazzled by diamonds and loved anything purple. Our evenings together were often spent watching Friends reruns that she'd already seen dozens of times. After a few months, so had I. She never afraid to tell me the truth, a quality I both loved and hated. She'd say, "ok, I've got to be honest..." She dieted on pop tarts and lucky charms and stocked our cupboards with bulk boxes of Coke. At only 5'2", she was a tiny little thing but that never stopped her. She was an absolute monster behind the wheel of her Volvo. When I was sad, she'd leave me little handwritten notes about the apartment to cheer me up. They were always on her "Z" stationary, Z for Zoya. She taught me to appreciate the Spice Girls. For her I went to Benihana, a restaurant I hate - a lot. We'd go often. She'd come into my room at midnight sometimes, asking me to go to CVS, another obsession. Why she always wanted to go when I'd already gone to sleep never made sense to me.

Why is it the people who drive you nuts are the ones you wind up loving the most? I really, really miss her. Time heals all wounds but you're still left with scars. Friday is the third anniversary of her death. The only thing that makes me sadder is the pain her parents live with. It never quite leaves my mind.