A good memory: me at eighteen and my best friend, lying in bed together in her house near the train tracks. There’s a bowl of chicken bones in a bowl next to the bed and I think they’ve been there a long time. I think this is tequila thursday, after the other two have crawled naked down the hallway and have each got their own bucket. Or the night we are ordering boys to kiss us. Kate lives in a sharehouse, and we are figuring out who we are, and I feel very grown up when I’m at her house. But only I get to sleep in kates bed that night and we giggle and talk and I feel little girl safe.