Holly Acree was a dear friend of mine in high school. We met at church, bonded in choir, and spent many, many days together. I mainly remember being at her house, but that might be because I enjoyed it there so much. I loved mowing her lawn (not my own, of course), I loved being included in her family with her mom and her sister, Lisa, and I mostly loved listening to and talking with Holly. We also traveled a lot together, with our church, and were both SUPERSTARS of a traveling musical (superstar might overstate it) that involved us wearing really awful baggy red shorts all over Texas and Arkansas. 

She was a really big superstar soccer player in high school (she may be still today), and yet she just looked like anyone else — until she made a muscle with her leg. Her leg showed muscles that I hadn’t seen — certainly not in a girl — before, and that I loved to see. Her dedication to soccer, to the time, the pain and the learning, was wonderful to see. I admired her for it enormously. 

She also had a great sense of fun — with bright red hair and a fantastic smile (see photo), I loved being around her. We were both children of single mothers, at that point, and had a lot of freedom. I loved painting other people’s rooms (mine remained an anodyne peach for my entire middle and high school career) in a dramatic way. Holly and I decided that her room would have one forest green wall with pink and (white?) splatter paint, and the rest white walls with pink and green splatter paint. Sponge paint, splatter paint, ‘textures’ were all the rage, and we didn’t let our complete lack of information or skill dissuade us.

One day, and I’m almost certain her mom wasn’t home, we set to it. I *think* (hope?) that we taped off the room and used plastic covers, but I know we moved all the furniture to the middle of the room. We did the ‘boring’ part first, painting a wall a dark green. Then: We went to work. We started splattering just the walls, but soon the splatter turned to each other. I remember standing on her bed, covered in pink and green paint, laughing so hard my stomach hurt. 

I don’t remember the clean up — surely we did — or her mom’s reaction. I remember the glee we felt in the moment, the comfort with each other, and the pure love of being with someone doing something a bit unusual that we both enjoyed. Out of all the happy memories I have with Holly, that day remains one of my favorites. 

When we have gotten in touch over the years, Holly makes a point of telling me how much I affected her life. I appreciate it, and yet I always feel she affected mine in more ways. She showed me it was okay for a woman to be physically strong, to stand up to men, and to speak loudly when I felt strongly. She taught me how to love without hesitation, and I am grateful to her for those and many others. Live it to the max, right, Holly? Thank you.