My friend

My good friend would bound into a room, fragrance first. Eyes would immediately be drawn to the low cut and expansive rise of high bust. A skirt would touch just above her knees, bare legs always, smooth skin with either long boots or boys-come-get-me heels. Her hair was dyed brown a while ago now. Sometimes she needed to pick out white fluff before she left the house from locks that had been the same length for about a year.

Depending on the occasion her make up would be loud or screaming. Green eye shadow, purple or pink. She would apply it with a mirror almost touching her face.

"Can she see?" I asked myself when I witnessed this for the first time. It turns out that she had real trouble.

She's got a thing going on with her skin where some parts of it looks like finely granulated sugar has been sprinkled over coffee. Pale bits around her ears, her arms, her hands. I hoped she wasn't doing a Michael Jackson on me, as it does matter if you're black or white.

Her earings are large, silver ornamental pieces with lapis lazuli, rose quartz and matching bracelets. her smile is wide, full lips. Lovely straight teeth and a voice that could be matched to a classical stringed instrument.

"Look at me!" her body would cry. "I'm going nowhere fast!" and almost always eat three pitta bread slices, not one like everyone else.

"What I'm trying to say is..." is what she would say when you didn't understand and she would ensure that you got the point before moving along to another story about what has happened to her. Another exciting adventure or some other marvellous titbit.

When she left she would rise up with unexpected ease and almost float down the stairs.