One of my oldest friends is dying of ovarian cancer. It's hard to say or to type or to think but it's real and it's happening and it's on my mind every day. She is 28 years old.
Nicole and I first met in Cedar Lane, a high school for teens who have suffered trauma and abuse as children. We shared the same art class, although never even spoke until I was looking for someone to go see Joni Mitchell with at Merriweather Post Pavillion. She had the car and I had the tickets. Joni wasn't at her best. She was visibly tired singing classic jazz standards and playing with a 20 piece string section. Nicole and I were bummed as as we left, so we rolled the windows down and blasted "Carey." Everyone in the parking lot started cheering and dancing. For a moment, we felt like celebrities.
I moved in with Nicole and her family during my senior year of high school. My mother had recently relapsed on heroin and left behind a husband, three very young children, and me. Nicole's mother and brothers welcomed me into their home without a second thought. They bought me clothes, fed me and became my family. Read more »
