For Sarah.

I came home with August and Everything After in my purse. Pillaged
from Marty's giveaway pile.
You had just uncorked a bottle of wine, sitting and knitting or reading .
We pressed play and all those old lyrics came flooding back.
"It's raining in Baltimore and fifty miles east.
The bigtop is crumbling down."
Unembarassed and singing loud. Streatching out the YEAAAAAAAAAAH at
the end of Rain King.
We drank more wine and talked deep into the night.
Things like lonliness and love and God. Things that we always talk
talked about. Mostly boys though, I am sure.
I didn't want to leave that space of true sisterhood.
We went to sleep with our doors open. Counting Crows playing on
repeat, quietly in the living room.
I am not saying that this is the best band in the world, but this is
the story I tell to defend myself.
There was too much love in that little house on East 14th that night.
I think even the harshest critic would have danced the Mr. Jones with
us if they were there.
I will love you forever for being there in those formative years. For
letting me be Wendy Bateman.