That's not her real name, of course. It's the name of the character she played when we last shared the stage. I knew so little of her then, only that I loved her smile and how easily she shared it. I remember thinking that I hoped we'd become friends. That friendship grew over a mutual fondness for wine and tea; for reading tarot and making cards by hand; for movies with girls in pink dresses and surfing under a grey-blue sky; for being honest even when you're afraid and always feeling welcome to drop by unannounced.
She's the kind of girl you'd trust with your children because there's so much you can learn from the way she gets them. She never talks down to anyone, especially not kids. She is playful, but never careless. She is fiercely independent, but family means the world to her. She remembers to thank you for kindnesses you've long since forgotten. If I started a commune, and I'm not saying I won't one day, I'd want her under the same roof. I'd want her as a sister. She makes me want to be a better person, a better mom, a better friend.
She's the young-hip fairy-godmother I always dreamed I had.
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