We’re friends now on Facebook. She plays piano and has albums and shares my notes about my kids when I write eloquently enough. She seems to be living a clean, good life.
So it’s hard to reconcile the last time I remember seeing her, in a car, when we were near the end of high school. She was driving and I was there with a friend who was rolling a joint.
And she looked at me in the rearview mirror and smiled to show me her braces.
“This is some good shit,” she said.
