I remember a friendship break-up from my childhood. We met in the late 70s when my family moved onto a dead-end street. We were the only girls on the block and became fast friends. We enjoyed a fairly long leash that allowed for hours of playing outside. We did it all, from pretending we were roller-skating gymnasts to racing super balls in the gutters with Star War figurines tied to twig rafts. It was in seventh grade that things began to fall apart—new friends, different interests. I was a late bloomer, though I didn’t know it then. As the era of boys standing in corners and girls fluttering back and forth in front of them descended, I lingered near the black top courts during recess, clinging to the time when we all…

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