I grew up with Jamie.

Our summer afternoons were spent transforming into age-less movie stars.

I became Judy Garland, and Jamie, Marilyn Monroe, because

her red lips pouted and her body had taken on a womanly form.

Jamie didn't have a drug problem, although she

pretended she did for Marilyn's sake.

We bought candy cigarettes and pixie sticks that jamie spread across a mirror

and pretended to snort through her nose.

She saw her dad do it once-

"Like father, like daughter." she always said.

Jamie wore her mother's stilettos and mini skirts,

and balanced with the grace of a princess as she walked around the room.

One day Jamie ran to my house.

Her once perfectly outlined eyes became smudged as she cried black tears.

Her father had called her a tramp when she walked by him.

Jamie only wanted to walk Hollywood Boulevard and wear starshaped sunglasses like Marilyn.

We crawled under my bed and I let

Jamie wear my Dorothy shoes.

She clicked her heels and said,

"I dont want to go home."- And she didnt.

The courts let her live with her grandmother. We embraced and she kissed my hair.

"Marilyn will love Judy forever." she whispered, and then jumped into her grandmother's Jag.

I wonder sometimes, if Jamie ever made it to Hollywood and pressed her hands in Marilyn's prints. If she still thinks of her promise to Judy, or if her Marilyn days had just been a fabrication

of a little girl's pretend games...

But I hope not.