Mr. Zanheiser, my fifth grade teacher...

This was the beginning of four very bleak years for me, but you were always compassionate. You played a piano in the back of the classroom while we worked, which had the North Shore parents atwitter, but you didn’t care.

Christine, a redhead, but not a Strawberry Girl (and my computer "issues" have forced me into delinquency)

I was in awe of Christine because, as our landlord back in the days of tough-as-nails Humboldt Park, she had no qualms about confronting the neighborhood ‘bangers. She had a caustic wit and steely determination I couldn’t help but admire.

Felicia, my first nerd friend...

You were skinny and nervous with a sweet smile and demanding parents. We were friends from kindergarten until junior high, when we went separate ways. You taught me how to turn ice cream into a milkshake. You're a lawyer today.

J.T.: A mentor and dear friend...

You were a wonderful elf of a man, running the printshop like a benevolent creature out of a Grimms fairytale. You swore to me that at a different time, we would be married. To you, life and art were interchangeable.

Raw Doug...

You prance around in these ridiculous short shorts because you are convinced that your raw foods diet has helped you look like you are thirty years younger. In reality, Doug, you are an angry, judgmental little man with hair plugs.

Aunt Minnie (actually Great Aunt Minnie, but whatever...) had the secret to happiness apparently.

What a sweet soul you were, always baking Spry cookies and sewing these adorable aprons; you were widowed young and working your whole life but perpetually happy. At ninety, you still took the bus once a week to visit grandma.

John Probes, a brilliant bartender and very loyal friend...

John briefly dated my friend, then we became friends and we all had a blast together for several years until he died of alcoholism. He was a talented photographer and an amazingly gifted conversationalist.

Kirsten, my first feminist friend...

You were short and athletic, raised by counter-cultural lawyers in Wichita. I was with you at a coffee shop when you saw a man you despised. You squirted ketchup all over his face while shrieking expletives. The room was silent.

Susan G., my second best friend...

I remember that first day of kindergarten. You had long, straight hair that I envied and sat next to another girl, sharing an ice cream cone. I asked for a lick and you laughed at me. Things improved from there.

Tom (if your girlfriend grew up in the projects, don't expect to flash that smug smile and get away without a sock to the jaw)...

You were my roommate's boyfriend, a guitar-playing pretty boy with an uncommon ability to infuriate her. Judith ran to your apartment one day so furious with what you'd said to her on the phone that she left the vacuum running.

Mary Ann, the lunchroom lady who looked like Rhoda Morganstern...

You made the best hamburgers in the world, perfectly formed little patties back when lunch-ladies actually formed patties. My mom promised me that she got the recipe from but she must have fibbed. They were not in the same ballpark.

Janet drove a Civic with a 'PEACE' license plate...

You became the friend of mine in college who would introduce me to the assortment of hippies, punks and feminists who would become my crowd. You were in love with Gary, twelve years older. I withdrew. You two remain married.

Steve, my brother's best friend...

You were tall and thin and always eating something. Behind your back, we called you Jughead. You introduced me to Indian food and expounded on your atheist beliefs passionately. Today, you are an Orthodox Jew with six children in Milwaukee.

Ronna, circa fifth grade...

We were pseudo-best friends for a while, but we pretended otherwise because you were a tomboy and I was in a girly-girl phase. You had long, straight bangs that were always in your eyes and laughed whenever people got hurt.

First crush: Larry Freidlander...

I have a weathered photograph of us on my backyard slide, you with your legs wrapped around me; we were five. You professed your love for me often. Your family moved not long after. Where are you now, Larry Friedlander?

Jeanie...

You were the dutiful daughter of irascible parents, but beneath the surface, you had a wickedly funny, mordant sense of humor. I'll never forget the little raise-of-the-eyebrow you gave the morons who thought they could steal petty cash at work.

Barb (she's sober now, I hear)...

Barb was an unforgettably confrontational, hilarious and alcohol-dependent friend of mine in college. She came from old money and we would spend Sunday mornings trying to piece together where we left her car Saturday night by analyzing our hand stamps.

Forgotten name #3: my first vegetarian peer...

You moved to our school at sixteen. I was so excited to know another vegetarian. You told me that you lived in France and had had “an incident” with meat. Other than that, you didn't want to talk about it.

Dr. Brown, our dentist and neighbor...

You were in a perpetually happy, friendly mood and were one of my father’s two friends. Your car ran in the garage while you were seated inside. My mother found you. Too many bad times with Mrs. Brown, it seems.

The grocery shoppers of yesterday (in my sad state)...

Thank you to the red head for smiling at me, moving an abandoned cart out of my way; to the woman who spoke lovingly to my son; to the man who smiled as I walked past. You each were blessings.

Laurie, my junior high best friend...

You had blonde hair, big boobs and a boisterous laugh; you carried me around in your pocket like I was your personal mascot. We read Seventeen magazine together in sixth grade and freaked out reading about French kissing. So gross!

Ed, my next door neighbor...

It is difficult to know how old you are, but I'd guess in your seventies. I see you walk out on your deck often when it is warm, but now it is winter. I haven't seen you in months, Ed.

Strange, inappropriately sharing man at Target last night...

You proclaimed about my son, "He's so BEAUTIFUL. Look at his eyes!" Later, I ran into you and your presumptive wife and learned of your inability to create a baby together. She remained silent, an embarrassed smile on her face.

Mrs. Nelson, the sad-faced widow next door...

I didn't know your private torment, Mrs. Nelson. How could I have known? You were plump and grandmotherly with medium brown hair and worried eyes. My mother recently told me that you never recovered after your daughter died of alcoholism.

Miss Cadillac, my kindergarten teacher...

I don't remember much of Miss Cadillac, except that she was slim and just the right amount of stern. She made me stay after school one day until I was able to zipper my coat, making me cry. Tough love.

Marie...

Marie lived across the street from us with her husband. They were from Germany; she was a plump, friendly and vigorous woman. They had a restaurant and hired me as a waitress when I was sixteen. Boy, was I lousy.

Deva...

We worked together at the animal shelter; you were the straight-laced daughter of former hippies from Montana, and your father was mayor of Missoula. We laughed all day at our inside jokes, usually at someone else's expense. I miss you.

Forgotten name #2: Reverend at Ecumenical Christian Ministries

We met when I was in college and working against covert U.S. activity in Central America. You ran the organization. You were slender and graceful with a very peaceful, warm presence. To me, you were as Christ-like as they come.

First true love...

His name was Kirk, which rhymes with another word starting with a 'j', but perhaps it was just a coincidence. Meeting him, suddenly those nauseating and trite love songs I'd always heard made sense. He made me crazy-sick with love.

The guys at the seedy bar in San Francisco on New Year's Eve...

My dear friend Lisa, a long-time partner-in-crime and co-conspiritor, and I rang in the New Year of 1997 by screaming out to random drunks and hipsters, "Happy New Year, you stupid motherf*ckers!" You all took it very well, considering everything.