Chapter Ten
Two girls playing.
The first time I saw Lynn she was swinging on a tire in her back yard and singing a tuneless song of her own composition.
“Push me?” she asked.
I pushed the swing. When she started singing again, I sang too. We took turns making up the lyrics, and screeching with laughter as the song got sillier.
We were two six year old tomboys who came to love each other in a chaste and perfect way. She was the center of my world then. If I try to invoke her now, I recall only corn silk hair and a soft lisp. She believed that she could fly, if only she wished hard enough.
The neighborhood boys didn’t like it when we invaded their cops and robber games, but they learned to tolerate us. The narratives behind their shootouts were never clear and didn’t matter. Sometim
