She was my best friend in Texas. She had an adventurous spirit; I mostly just tagged along behind. Her mom was the Girl Scout troop leader, and Lindsay always got to have sleepovers with the girls in the troop. Her mom was kind of awesome, actually, in that single-parent-coping kinda way.
We shared classes both years we were in school, but I don’t remember much about school proper. Funny how minds work. Instead, I remember the neighborhood, Walnut Vista, and the road, and the time she fell while we were riding our bikes. She split her knee right open. I was in the first flush of my medical geekery phase (“phase” lasting eighteen years so far!) and I felt very responsible for her. I ran straight down the hill to my house, the little one on the corner, and Mum and I went out to fetch her. Mum had an enormous bandage all ready, the sticky kind with the cartoon characters on.
I remember Lindsay, in the road, and her bike twisted around next to her. Gray sky; it was summer and we were overdue for a storm.
And I remember the makeup set we played with, how waxy the lipsticks tasted, how bright the blushes turned us. Very early-nineties in nature, the set came with one pink lipstick and one beige, intended no doubt to give us that frosted rockstar look. At the time, I felt so grown-up; now I look back, with Guerlain and Dior in my makeup box, and the only word I can find is tawdry. At the end of the day, she was a girl growing up too fast because her mom had her hands full. It was exciting to me, and when it got overwhelming, I could go home to my quiet quasi-European life. Lindsay didn’t have an escape.
She moved the same year we did. I didn’t keep in touch. We would have grown apart before too long. I hope she found happiness, or at least some stability.