Before I lived in Memphis, our family spent some time in St. Louis.  An idyllic suburban neighborhood where kids from the entire block played in the streets and families got together on weekends for cookouts and pool parties.  My best friend was a boy my age named Matthew.  I think he was an only child but I don’t specifically remember.  I know we spent lots of time hanging out just the two of us.  We stimulated each others’ imaginations and I remember communicating well with him.

The pretend games we played were on a grand scale for such small children.  We traveled to all the hot spots in dreamland and were able to share thoughts without speaking half the time.  Deep discussions about the behavior of adults was our strongest bond.  He observed the same type of details I did and we spent hours speculating how and why things happen the way they do.  Budding social scientists building our own bridge to Terabithia.

One summer afternoon we were playing in the basement at his house.  A half-finished renovation project in a house with more room than they needed.  We often played pretend games with the  construction equipment.  An old sawhorse provided countless imaginary shelters.  Whatever we needed an inanimate object to be magically appeared before us.  In retrospect, that basement of raw wood and hand tools gave us a blank canvas more dynamic than any outside playground.

One day while playing with each other, Matthew had a great idea.  He wanted to swap clothes so he could be the girl and I could be the boy.  I didn’t see how clothes could make this happen but he was so excited to put my dress on I didn’t argue.  I didn’t put his clothes on because there was no appeal in his khaki shorts and t-shirt.  I didn’t particularly like my dress either but at least it wasn’t confining.  About the time he started doing a pretty little dance in his new garb is when his mom came downstairs to see what we were doing.

I hid in the corner because I was naked.  I knew we were in trouble though I didn’t fully understand why.  Being naked is definitely a bad thing, especially around a boy.  What I didn’t account for was how upset his mom would be about the dress.  She demanded that I put my clothes back on and then I was dragged down the street by my upper arm until Matthew’s mom placed me in front of my mother.  Then she started with, “You won’t believe what I found your daughter doing with my son.”

I don’t remember much else from that day.  If I was punished, it was light.  I’m pretty sure my mom thought it was funny.  I know I wasn’t old enough to know any better.