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.