She wore french braids....

I was four. The only child. Skinny and bruise kneed. Blonde. She was born with auburn curls. Lipstick. Beautiful. I crawled into her crib and slept next to her. Once. I wasn't allowed to do it again. She was a baby. But I was mesmerized....

By the time I was seven, she was as tall as me. Mama dressed us alike. Me with my Mia Farrow "I just cut my hair in the bathroom" hair doo, and her with her french braids. We swirled and twirled in matching green polka dot tent dresses, her in baby dolls and me in platforms. I listened to the Beatles, scratchy lyrics, grinding on my stereo into the wee hours, and she slept with her pink princess phone in her pink canopy bed. We were opposites. A zillion years apart. Night and day.

And then we went on the bike ride. Two spider bikes from the sheriffs sale, spray painted pink for the princess and purple for the "I'm gonna be a hippie when I grow up". We raced down the sidewalks, through the dirt alleys, over the tunnel the boys built in the park. We tulled past the Mayor's son with his three speed smiling, and huffed and puffed to keep up with Zanne and her ten speed. Nicky clacketed past us with blue and white poker cards clothespinned to his spokes.

That did us in.

We flew like the wind, standing on the pedals, home to top their "brag". We plowed through the laundrey room hunting anything we could tie to, tassle to, dangle from our handlebars. We grabbed the crayons and Mom's oil paints to decorate our seats and the fenders. I buried my head face first in the library trunk, the place that all the "gotta save" "important" "memory" stuff was kept...and dug up the Motherload....a pile of Playboy magazines...

Kimbies grinned from ear to ear. And we caught on quick to where the centerfold was. One. Two. Three. Twelve. Taped together, three pages long. Times six. The ultimate handlebar twizzler. And we flew...

Naked ladies following us. Butterflies in the wind....

Of course we got in trouble. The neighbors were apalled. Their children not allowed to play with us. And still, we rode. Faces fast to the wind. Unified....

Saturday we went out for drinks. 40 something years later...

"How cool are those old ladies?" the "probably not yet 21 year old" belted to the DJ.....

and we danced on.....

Hello Tomorrow

My legs were crossed, all lady like, and my right sneakered foot was just~a~swingin' in tandem with hers, crossed at the knee. We were keeping mad time together. Pacing in place. The lobby was full... Broken lives hooked to IV poles, held up by other's... faces blank, tired, scared, old~schooled. Hugs and how~to~do's were quietly passed in "shhhhhhhh.....we're in church now" fashion. I flipped through the pages of the Reader's Digest so fast and hard, it sounded like I was shufflin' poker cards, and I concentrated on making that same sound over and over again.
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And then they called her name. For a moment I wasn't sure I could walk without having my legs crossed, right one swinging. What other nervous tic could I develop that would be socially acceptable? And hide my fear..... What other nervous tic could I invent that could pass off for strength? How was I going to catch her when she collapsed? And who would catch me?
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He smiled. That handsome Doctor smile. Babyesque brown eyes, old already. Lips curled just enough to make you wonder who his Dentist was, and why on earth he chose to practice this type of medicine. Why on earth he didn't want to be a Soap Opera Star....
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She had been summoned here. To this room at this time with these people. For the news. We waited. He talked. Drew pictures. Circled foreign words on endless reports. Nodded his head up and down as if we understood. And then we did. Sweet Jesus! Remission! Gone! Poof! Not there! Unremarkable scans. Nothing here, there, over there, in that.....crawling, corrupting, eroding. Nothing!


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We stood in the parking lot, in the rain, and cried. Laughed. Hallelujahed the sky! Tried to dial numbers. Skinny's. Papa's. The kids. The boys. And then we decided to party.....
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.\And we know how to party.....
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Thursday night, Friday night....into the wee, wee hours. At 4'oclock this morning, I fell into bed. Kimbies curled up like a rolly poly on my little living room couch. Her dancin' boots in a heap, her little blue bandana

still on her noggin'.....
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And I slept like I've never ever slept before....
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In peace.
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With Stevie Ray Vaughan there in the shadows, whispering lullabyes for the soul......
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And Tomorrow, just outside the window....
Smiling...

"Happy, Happy Week-end" said the Hippie to the sky...

"Hey, I've got an idea! Let's pretend we're at the beach......."

And so we did. Twenty four hours of "feel the love, save the seawall"....All in make~believe.

The little round river grew and grew and grew until it was bottomless and the waves tumbled madly, splashing us, dunking us, pulling us out to sea.....

Blue dolphins circled, an up and down parade of laughter, and we joined them, riding without saddles until we were dizzy, and I was the first one off, falling face first to kiss the ocean. Eyes wide open, the water was champagne, bubbly and delicious and I was tipsy by the time I came up for air, mermaid tail swishing......this way, that way, this way to Treasure Island....

To the Tiki Bar....

To the Sunset.....

To a week at the beach....

At midnight we played SeaCinderella, barefooted and silly....swirling and twirling, paisley shadows under the moon.....

The handsome Prince with the beer moustache laughing, drinking from glass slippers....thirsty for more....

It's Sunday now. And it's quiet. All that's left behind is a blue vinyl pool and sun on my nose....