And another night in Laurel Canyon—or maybe it was that same night, or maybe it wasn’t in Laurel Canyon at all—my mother was up on an outdoor stage with the band behind her, wearing this incredible green dress with green and gold beads that looked like it had belonged to some kind of princess at the beginning of the twentieth century but got blown apart and stepped on and fucked with until its ripped-up remnants flattered my mother’s licorice arms and serious thighs perfectly. Her sphere of hair was tinged with gold; her legs and arms and dress were a monster as the music started. Watching it was like picking up something you didn’t realize was hot. The drums and bass started rolling, the guitar whined into time with the rhythm section; then she screamed and everything went electric. Her voice could slide from a siren to a growl like her body was an instrument from hell or the future. I thought the microphone would break in half and let out sparks every time she slammed her rings and claws into it. The noise made my eardrums and back teeth sting, and I knew I was seeing something important. I thought, this is us. This is what our lives are now.

But the best thing about it was my dad’s face watching her. I wanted in on it, somehow. Part of me wanted to ask to be picked up; I just wanted a bit of what was in his eyes. I held out as long as I could before I raised my arms up to him, feeling like a bit of a baby. He scooped me up and held me and looked at me, really took a moment and looked at me, and then he turned his face back to the stage and it felt like we were looking at her together.

Later that night—or was it? How can I be sure? In the reel of my memory it’s the same night, static from the show still tingling the surface of our little life. Still in California, anyway, and she’s wearing the amazing green dress. My parents have left their bedroom door ajar and I’m watching them through the crack. He’s painting her toenails black, blowing on her toes. They’re talking about people I don’t know. He stretches his body up along her legs and kisses her fingers. She kneels in front of him on the bed, and he comes up to his knees too, and she piles all her jewelry onto him from the bedside table, kisses her lipstick onto his mouth. She reaches over again to get her camera and takes a picture. I remember the electric snap of the flash.