
I was seven. We'd never moved before.
Finally my mom kicked me out of the house. “Go and make some new friends,” she said.
I wandered aimlessly through the backyards until I came to a little knot of kids, playing Tarzan. The oldest girl, Debbie S., was Tarzan.
I felt a thrill of homecoming.
We played Tarzan all that afternoon: climbing trees, ape-dancing, chanting the war-chant of the Jujus (NA-na-na-na-na NA-na-na-na-na NA-na NA-na NA-na-na-na-na). I was Jane.
A year later, Debbie and her family moved away. I never saw her again.
Still, I have no doubt whatsoever that some day out there I'll run a dyke named Debbie S.
When we do, I know exactly what I'll say.