You taught me how to shave my legs, the downy almost invisible blonde strands of silk falling to the razors swath, the last vestige of a child’s body helpless against the vanity of a teenagers critical eye. But I loved you, that summer, loved your shiny pageboy flip, your tweezed eyebrows and ice pale lips. You were sophisticated in a way I didn’t understand but coveted. Shaving my legs was only the beginning. Continue reading Summer of Mary