She bears the same name as my daughter, a friend before I bore the shame of illegitimacy. When North Carolina’s sunsets filtered through the pines, I watched her hair catch flame. Her beauty was unconventional, like her attitude towards life. In my memory she was a wild one, introducing me to the finer points of drunkenness. My second lover was the result of her intervention. We spied each other at a fair, and he carried an Elvis poster. She giggled when I wrote my number on his hand. Then we graduated. The intentions were there, but the follow through wasn’t. That was ten long years ago, and I wonder if she remembers when I told her I loved her. She passed out right after calling me a lesbian.
I believe she was there for me, when I was pregnant and alone. I spoke to her when I was in labor. She wanted to be there, to hold my hand, but the phone call was enough. My sins and transgressions were known by her long before I understood the complexity of their ways. When we were in high school Army men fascinated us. I dated Eric. She introduced us, and like all relationships during that point in my life, it didn’t last.

I wonder what happened to her sparkly green VW Rabbit. We had many adventures in that car.