True Friendship Is A Promise You Keep

Lissa Lowered Her Voice And Added, "i Might Not Even Go To School Anyway. I Might Defer And Join The Peace Corps And Go To Africa And Shave My Head And Dig Latrines." "shave Your Head?" I Said, Because, Really, This Was The Most Ludicrous Part Of The Whole Thing. "you? Do You Have Any Idea How Ugly Most People's Bare Heads Are? They've Got All Kinds Of Bumps, Lissa. And You Won't Know Until It's Too Late And You're Flat-out Bald.

'so,' He Said As We Turned Onto The Main Road, The Muffler Rattling, 'i've Been Thinking.' 'yeah?' He Nodded. 'you Really Need To Go Out With Me.' I Blinked. 'i'm Sorry?' 'you Know. You, Me. A Restaurant Or Movie. Together.' He Glanced Over, Shifting Gears. 'maybe It's A New Concept For You? If So, I'll Be Happy To Walk You Through It.' 'you Want To Take Me To A Movie?' I Asked. 'well, Not Really,' He Said. 'what I Really Want Is For You To Be My Girlfriend. But I Though Saying That Might Scare You Off.'

I Wondered Which Was Harder, In The End. The Act Of Telling, Or Who You Told It To. Or Maybe If, When You Finally Got It Out, The Story Was Really All That Mattered.

Shoulda, Coulda, Woulda. It's So Easy In The Past Tense.

Now, Now," My Father Said. "let's Just Get The Bags." This Was Typical. My Father, The Lone Male In Our Estrogen-heavy Household, Had Always Dealt With Any Kind Of Emotional Situation Or Conflict By Doing Something Concrete And Specific. Discussion Of Cramps And Heavy Flow At The Breakfast Table? He Was Up And Out The Door To Change Oil On One Of Our Cars. Coming Home In Tears For Reasons You Just Didn't Want To Discuss? He'd Go Make You A Grilled Cheese, Which He'd Probably End Up Eating. Family Crisis Brewing In A Public Place? Bags. Get The Bags.