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“So, why that name? Why Alvina?” a friend asked between drags of a clove cigarette.

I got these kinds of questions all the time. My name was easy to remember but hard to understand, let alone pronounce. I gave a light chuckle and waved my hand to fan away the silvery smoke.

“I’ll tell you the story behind it if you’d like.”

Alvina Robinson was the nicest old woman any one had ever met. She had a bright, denture-enhanced smile, frazzled pale hair, and often wore long red shirts with cats and flowers printed across her chest. In her lifetime, she’d given birth to several sons, all of which had moved out and found success in business by the age of twenty-one. All, that is, except Richard.

Richard was a brown-haired, blue-eyed stud with all the potential in the world but little motivation to match. He was the middle child, the silly one who was often ignored but never blamed. He’d grown up to be a heroin addict with a drinking problem to top it. He went from Hollywood material to another homeless slime ball in only ten years. But today, it seemed, things would change. He’d been given a chance to turn things around. His wife, an ex-hooker from Australia, was pregnant.

“Excellent, excellent. I cannot wait until your stomach starts to swell, Veronica.”

The retired prostitute smiled as grandma Vina prodded at her belly.

“Ye, I dinno ‘ow Rick’ll react, though.” She replied with a shrug.

Right on cue, the man of the house himself came stumbling into the kitchen clutching a bottle of Jameson to his gut. He gave a toothy grin at his wife and scowled at his mother.

“Hey hey! Baby! You wanted to tell me something?” He asked, snaking an arm around his little escort’s waist. “You gaining weight?”

“Ye, I’m havin’ yer baby. I’m pregnant, honey.”

His bottle of Jameson followed his jaw to the floor as a priceless expression of shock distorted his tired features. He shook his head vigorously, as if he were in a daze, and threw his arms in the air.

“You can’t be!” he exclaimed. “You’re a hooker!”

A camera flash interrupted the distressed drunkard as Alvina Robinson captured this Kodak moment, giving a broad smile of delight and patting him on the shoulder.

“Maybe now you can turn your life around, son! A new beginning, isn’t it grand?” The crow’s feet around his mother’s eyes were more defined than ever as she gave a hearty laugh that rung f childish excitement. This died soon enough, however, when Rick’s remark followed.

“Maybe not. She’s not keeping the baby.”

A moment of tense silence passed before Mrs. Robinson exploded, taking her son by the collar of his shirt and shaking her finger in an enraged motion.

“You can’t run away from every cotton-pickin’ woman you manage to knock up. You’re gonna be a God damned daddy and if you – “

She was cut off. By a fist. To her jaw. Her son had actually struck her. With a yelp, she fell to the floor.

Richard motioned toward his wife at a shocking five drunken miles per hour! His fist still balled, he got close and screamed gibberish Veronica couldn’t understand for the life of her. Something regarding abortion, that was certain. He didn’t want the child at all. The scared but impatient lady of the night wiped a bit of her husband’s saliva from her brow. It was impossible to get his point across with out spitting all over his opponent.

“Feck ye, Rick.”

With that daring statement, Veronica braced herself for an oncoming blow that was, really, intercepted by a fry pan flying into the back of Richard’s head, sending him to the ground with a groan of defeat.

From behind Rick emerged Alvina Robinson herself, one pissed off granny in a red blouse, bearing a frying pan that now had a few speckles of blood on the back.

Tossing the cooking tool/ weapon aside, she wiped her hands and nodded to Veronica.

“You’d better name that kid after me.”

My name is a name of few meanings but way too many syllables, for my liking anyway. While I was researching the origin of my title, I wasn’t surprised to see that it was Old English. According to this site , my name translates to Noble friend, or friend of the elves. On another site, , I discovered that my name meant wise friend, and that it was Hebrew. Confused and un-amused, I closed both links rather promptly and continued on my search.

I’ve never had any kind of interaction with a supernatural being with long ears and incredible grace, and so of course I don’t agree that my name fits my character! In fact, I’m disgusted! Interspecies erotica is horrid and… Well, inhuman! But I’m sure that’s not what any baby name dictionary intended. I do fancy myself rather noble, however. Wise, too, with a sharp with and dashing good looks. But we’re getting off topic.

I love my name. It’s brilliant and unique, and if I ever decided on a gender change, I could EASILY shift from Alvina to Alvin. That kind of flexibility in names is hard to find. My title is fitting, and hard to pronounce, but I wouldn’t have it any other way.