I heard the click of the cassette deck and then the drum and cymbals...

He said his name was Fender, like the guitar, which may or may not have been true, but of course I was Sharona, which definitely was not true.

Contained within my earliest memories was the certainty that I had talent. 

Every creak now sounds like an intruder and a masked ghost in gloves keeps invading my dreams.

My new father-in-law decided the fair thing to do would be to have his children draw straws for accommodations.

I’m thinking MAYBE in my ripped jeans and sunglasses, from a distance, JUST MAYBE I’m passing for a co-ed.

You can’t unsee such a thing. And if you’re a maternal sleuth with a puritan upbringing like me, you might look away in shock.

I don’t have insight or hindsight. Crazy Suzanne should not have documented our lives, and should definitely not have chosen what to pack.

My wrists strained at the handcuffs wanting to wave, give a peace sign or some indication that I was still dateable.

W e’re on a raft of logs in the middle of a river just yards from terra-firma when David hands me the dried piece of mushroom. “ You’ve...