We grew up sharing a bedroom: French Street, Foxglove, Highland Drive. She wore ugly shoes and elephant leg pants. Summers she hung out at the public swimming pool with teen-aged sirens who baked themselves in Crisco and took me along. We slept until noon, then she made miniature pizzas on biscuits for lunch. If I promised to wash dishes she made oatmeal cookies. She taught me how to read the TV guide. Our feet were so dirty from walking barefoot they wouldn’t come clean. I made half the bed and wiped my snot on her side of the headboard. She gave me a final jab after I fell asleep.