I grew up in Old Metairie, an upper/middle class suburb outside New Orleans. It was a charming neighborhood so clearly meant for families. Kids ruled that place. We played kickball in the middle of the street and rode our bikes in lazy wide circles. Cars drove around us. If you didn’t have a pool, you had a trampoline. Everyone knew each others names. When you crossed paths with someone, you stopped and actually talked to them. The kids greeted the grown ups with a Mr. or a Mrs. No one locked their doors. In fact, the neighborhood itself felt like a giant family. No wonder why my mother chose to buy a house in that neighborhood after she had gotten carjacked and was forced to watch her parents get brutally stabbed to death. Yeah, Old Metairie seemed picture perfect, and picture perfect was what my mother sought after. 

My routine with Ben changed once we started rehearsals for our school play. I got cast as Viola, in Twelfth Night. That’s right, the lead of a Shakespeare play! It was kind of a big deal. Since this was a “prestigious” performing arts high school, (I hate the word prestigious, but I’m using it), other schools in the Orleans Parish would be bussed in to see this production. It would also get listed in the newspaper. I was on cloud nine. Yahooooooo!