Melissa McDonald was everything I wasn’t. Tiny in stature, with amazing blond ringlets and a charming, subtle way about her, she was my much admired friend in middle school. I liked her, I thought she was funny, and I was also in awe of her: She just had it all together. She had a crush on a HIGH SCHOOLER! She and her sister Kim (pictured, with me the giant in the middle) were best friends, even though Kim was TWO YEARS OLDER! These distinctions were big deals among the kids of Sidney Lanier Middle School in Houston, Texas in the mid-1980s.

Melissa lived in one of the coolest parts of town, West University, on Robinhood (I still remember the number, too) (I ADORED this girl!). She had two much younger sisters, and all four of them lived with their parents in a house that was apparently much smaller than other houses in West University. This was a source of some embarrassment to Melissa, and she had a strict, never-broken, no-visitors-allowed policy. I worked on getting an invitation to her house for years — I don’t know why, I thought being in the inner sanctum would signal, finally, acceptance of some sort that I was so desperate for in middle school (this story takes place a very long time before I learn that acceptance comes from within).

So one day, after years of being friends, Melissa agrees to have me over. I plan what I’m going to wear, and what I’m going to do, as if it is a visit to the White House. At her house, after my mom dropped me off, she put a blindfold on me, very tightly, and led me through her house to her and Kim’s room.

When I entered that sanctuary (with absolutely no peek to any other part of the house), I was entranced. I still remember with absolute clarity their gorgeous, jewel-like room, neat as a pin and with so many personal effects for the two most glamorous people I knew. We stayed there for hours, talking and laughing and just — being. It felt so good, to be trusted with entrance to a very beloved and private place. I felt like I had earned some star of approval. When my mom picked me up (with the blindfold in reverse, although I begged and wheedled to get to see more of the house …), I was glowing and floating.

Sometimes, in my dreams, I still think about that room. It’s a place I sometimes go to in my fondest times, a place where I feel happy, included and trusted.