Renee

We all knew she was trouble, from day one.

She swore. She pulled hair. She spit. She fought like a boy. She seemed to have no bed time or rules.

She wore tight pants and sweaters and developed early and dramatically, and we were all there to see it in real time, up close.

We all had a love-hate relationship with Renee. She was difficult, yes, but she was also our friend, in a guarded and fleeting way, the way you make friends with a tiger or a gypsy.

And she brought the drama. Our lives were uninteresting and normal in comparison. She lived loud and she lived hard.

Once she threw my father's best old hammer at Jay and it missed him (which is why there IS a Jay nowadays) careening off into the bushes and she got into trouble and had to search for it in tears. Trouble, she was always in trouble, but that was the only time I remember her ever being disciplined.

And the only time I remember seeing her cry.

I have one more memory of her that I can't really write about here, but suffice it to say it made a big impression on me, then just barely a teenager.

Renee died on Monday.

I don't know how, or why, but I'll guess that it wasn't good, whatever it was. And although I haven't seen her or thought about her in many years, the news hit me like a bullet. It's partly a shock, a reminder that nothing lasts forever. And It's part pity, for a girl and the good life she never had.

Another pillar of my childhood has collapsed from under me. And I'm a little more off-balance now because of it.