I always knew, early on, to keep
my mouth shut.
At Lincolnwood playground, swinging full out and letting our heads
drop back toward the ground, staring at rushing sky, Debbie sings
the "Lez-be-friends song. I don't say anything, just swish back
and forth. I know Debbie's gold hair
must be sweeping the sand by now, back and forth, and that she's
singing about lesbians. I don't say a single, single word. Swoosh.
"Oh, I'm just kidding," Debbie says. She starts to sing a songin
mock-baritone instead: "Strangers in the night, exchanging rubbers.
This one is too tight, let's try another. This one is too loose,
I'm losing all my juice. Da, da!" I'm not sure I know what a rubber
really is. I know what a lesbian is.