Audrey shrugged. “Yeah, that. Well, who wasn’t?”

“Me,” I said.

“I bet you were and you don’t remember. People block it out. You have to get hypnotized and stuff.”

“I don’t think so,” I said.

“Well, if you don’t remember, that’s what you would say.”

“You’re nuts.”

“Whatever, I’m not the one with repressed memories.”

“How do you know?” I said.

She giggled, and I did, too. I was glad to be high, to laugh and not be alone.

Audrey said, “I keep thinking about before she died. I stopped by Brandon’s to borrow this top from Dani, this little blue silk halter with cutouts along the bottom, super cute, and we smoked weed and watched some reality show on TV, I can’t even remember what show it was. And I left. With the fucking top. I should’ve stayed.”

“Audrey, you were friends. You cared about her. Think about that part.”

“I’m sick of being sad,” she said. “I’m fucking tired from it.”

“Me, too,” I said.

She breathed out, as though to expel the sorrow. “Let’s go out,” she said. “It’s a nice night.”

“Sure.”

I sat on my bed and watched Audrey hunt in my closet. She held a pink sequined party dress from the sixties I’d bought thrift shopping and never worn.

“Here we go. This is perfect,” she said.

“You’re wearing that?” I said.

“What size shoes are these?” She held a pair of sandals with rhinestone buckles.

“Eight,” I said.

“They’re a little big,” she said. “But it’ll do.”

The sequins on the dress tossed light around the room as Audrey pulled it over her head. The pot made me slow, distracted by sensation. I sipped from my glass and had to close my eyes at the taste of the bourbon and the way it burned my throat.

“Hurry up, get ready,” Audrey said.

She was talking from the bathroom, applying her makeup, and her tone altered as she stretched her face this way and that. I changed into a skirt and top and some pink wedges. I sat on the rim of the tub while she did my face. It tickled. I liked the sensation of her hands on my skin, her scrutiny and care. I smiled.

“Hold still,” Audrey said, concerned with my eyeliner. She finished and I studied my face in the mirror. I looked like someone else. The makeup made my eyes smoky, glamorous.

I pocketed my keys and we went down the steps together. On my block there were no curbs, and trash accumulated in the muddy ditch. I kicked a lone brown shoe out of the way. Wrappers and bones from the chicken place were piled here and there. A scruffy dog lay in the shade across the street, gnawing on something.

“Chicken bones are bad for dogs,” Audrey said. “They splinter.”

“He does all right,” I said. “His name is Tupac.”

“That’s awesome,” she said. “Hop in.”

We took 288 to 45 and got stuck in construction traffic for nearly an hour. Workers operated their machines under floodlights, and the jackhammer got into my head like grit. Her AC didn’t work when the car was stopped, and we had to have the windows up to keep out the dust and noise. My clothes wrinkled and my enthusiasm flagged.