22/365 - Bobbi

Bobbi, my high school Russian and drama teacher, should not have told me about giving birth to her children at home on all fours. I could think of nothing else when I saw her.

21/365 - Clara

A delightful, absent-minded professor with a passion for opera, married to Robbie who wanted to be Bob. Her signature: a 7 AM serenade on an out-of-tune piano. Years after splitting up with their son, they are family still.

20/365 - Martin

Martin, the janitor, was one of three men whose admiration of Hitler I had become privy to in my life. Martin was Mexican with a mullet and mustache. The others were Jews; no mullets or mustaches.

19/365 - Raul

Dinners at Raul's house: a huge homemade spread, tall tales and jokes, kids and friends home for dinner. The kind of atmosphere I always wished for. By the time decaf was served, Raul was asleep in his chair, snoring, content.

18/365 - Lukas

Lukas heard us speaking his language. That's how we met. He chastised us because "Fakt?"or "Really?" in Czech sounds to good American Christians like "fucked." He showed us Jesus slide shows, hoping to convert us to no avail.

17/365 - Dumpster Dave

A strange character of few words and many dreads who knew the closing time of shops; the magic hour when trash transformed into treasures. For fun, Dumpster D and crew would "jump Dravis," the steepest Seattle street, in a packed car.

16/365 - Lilah

She was like a river at night - daunting and alive, always moving and stirring. I didn't know then, when my love poem for her made her cry, that in Hebrew her name meant night.

15/365 - Benji

He offered me gum before our first kiss freshman year. Was it my breath or a commercial he saw? At home he saw my Barbies, met my family, taught me some Tagalog. After that, he never asked me out again.

14/365 - Gregg

He kayaked to work across the Bay, dodging ferries and cargo ships. From his history class I remember nothing, but in woodworking I made a paddle for our trip to the Islands. Twelve teens in tents and canoes... and Gregg. Unforgettable!

13/365 - Sterling

Close high school friends, we wandered around the city: ping pong, pool, parks, Pike Place Market, hacky sack, classic rock, science, philosophy, gossip. The crisp smell of his leather jacket and his aloof ways sat funny in the pit of my stomach.

12/365 - Helenka

Helenka, the village girl, shared a room with her parents and had a mutt smart as a whip. Grandma wore a scarf and raised chickens, dad drove a garbage truck. We were: festival organizers, store owners, farmers, dj's at eight-, ten-years-old.

11/365 - Alex

Why Alex and his father decided to come over and mow our lawn once remains a mystery. In return, I helped them paint a room for a Russian exchange student, joking: "As long as it's not pink." And pink it was.

10/365 - Eva

Bucktoothed and long-toed, she walked with me to school every day. In the afternoons we did homework together. Lucky girl lived in a quiet, neat flat and had her own room where a fish tank hummed softly.

9/365 - Bani

He loved to watch us die for him - expire in front of the class, theater-style, always searching for the sort of genius that was his own. Larger than life, he enlightened or stung like a black widow.

8/365 - Abigail

Her hands were the culprits: the way she ate her cereal, the way she massaged shoulders. I traveled with her a hundred miles downstream along the same river, longing for more of her world.

7/365 - Karma

A girl in another world, but on stage everything clicked. She embodied Beckett. No one understood. A good friend hid from her affection: "The crazy girl's after me!" Heard she lived on the street and had a kid.

6/365 - Ricardo ("Ricoco")

Ricoco, the photographer -- vest, scarf, and all -- would pick me, Terecua, up and take me to the squares, pyramids, and old market places, telling the horchata ladies we were married. His dream for us: a goat farm high up in the mountains.

5/365 - Joe

Boss on a throne, drinking beer all night long, watching his busy bees waiting on patrons. "Try this!" he yells in the kitchen about returned food. "Nothing wrong with it!" Under his breath, the customers are bastards.

4/365 - Adela

At fourteen she was the boss in the family. She worshipped George Michael like a puppy who wets itself with glee. She did not like me dating a black man - the thin thread of our friendship severed.

3/365 - Arvie

Gatekeeper of the knishes, eggs, and soups. A fifty-year-old hairdo, fire engine red lipstick sliding off into the canyons on her face. She swiped our meal cards, her brown beady eyes kind yet pleading like those of a dog trapped inside of itself.

2/365 - Jeremy

An artists' son. A quiet, indifferent boy. We stayed in the woods too long till it got dark. I led us out, holding his hand, feeling for the smooth surface of the path underneath our feet. Slow steps in the pitch black darkness like walking under water.

1/365 - Mark

I was a quaint alien doll who spoke in charming, mysterious tones. (Immigrants know). I forgive him. He was gentle and he indulged me. In his room I first heard Miles, music that cracked open a world the way shamans do.