Do you remember when you were a child, and the only prerequisite for friendship was a similar age? My parents, being the traveling bohemian partying type, provided an unending parade of sleepover guests that were conveniently of similar age to at least one of us sisters, and therefore our new 'friends'. Sometimes the kids they brought over were too old, and already knew enough about sex, boys, and makeup to know better than to talk to us. Or they were too young, in which case we could horrify them with titles of movies we'd seen. Often, these new friends spent two or three nights--until their parents woke up, or their car got repaired, or they had to play a gig somewhere) and were never seen again, usually without even saying goodbye.
" How old is she? Seven! Trista is seven too- bring her over!" my mother would say into the phone, in the high, dorky voice she used with strangers, explaining how unwanted children not need to hinder social events.
This is how I met Terra, a waif-thin girl with a thick head of dark brown curls, and large, quizzical eyes. She came with her clothes stuffed into a pillowcase, and our mothers pushed us together, claiming how much we looked like sisters, though the only thing we had in common was being stick-thin. Her mother was draped in gaudy silver jewelry, wore a fringed leather jacked and had the throaty voice of a raven. Her eyes glazed over frequently, meaning she was a drunk or probably worse. My other sisters were glad not to be chosen to host, and somehow made themselves scarce for the next few days.
I didn't like Terra . She told me stories about her made-up friends, and living in a bus. I was jealous of her imagination, especially at my failure to develop any imaginary friends of my own.
"Can you see them? Like really, actually? And touch them?" I asked, skeptical as usual, my eyes narrowing.
"Of course! I can see them right now. Raz! Stay off the couch!" According to Terra, Raz was a little red dragon that was responsible for the frequent small fires that Terra was blamed for setting at home.
Terra also liked ketchup on her grilled cheeses, clearly white-trash in my mind; my Aunt Debbie put ketchup on everything, and it made my mom wrinkle her nose. That night when we both discovered we were insomniacs, we watched the television through a crack in the door with our t-shirts stretched wide over our bony knees. Out of the corner of my eye, I watched as she pulled out strands of her hair, and ate the root, nibbling it delicately with her two crooked front teeth. I reeled in disgust over the eating of hair, and she explained to me that it was extremely nutritious. In the static light of the Late Show, I saw a distinct bald patch on her crown.
When I showed her my poster of the canid family, she argued the pronounciation of the Latin names; Canis lupus, Canis rufus, Canis simensia, Canis indica. She sounded them out poorly, slowly. It became apparent that she couldn't actually read. I became embarrassed, and avoided eye contact. What a stupid girl! She can't even read!
The next day, her mother croaked harsh orders to "Get your shit together!", mascara bleeding blue and inky around her eyes. As Terra obediently collected her few belongings, and my mother insisted I give her a present. I snidely handed her a stack of my old Goosebumps books that I found extremely banal, and she looked nervous.
For some reason I remember distinctly feeling superior, but also ashamed of how much I had; because I could tell that she was momentarily homeless, and I was not.