The sleepover is an essential part of being an kid. When I was a teenager, I spent the night with friends (either my house, or theirs) nearly every weekend. When I was a young teenager, most of my Saturday nights were spent with my best friend at her dad’s apartment. She did not have a bedroom of her own at her dad’s place, so he always filled up an air mattress for us and we slept in the living room. He’d stand in the kitchen, chain smoking and drinking beer, while we watched movies and talked about boys and laughed at the stupid things that teenage girls think are funny. There were also plenty of shenanigans. That was safe place, a good place, a happy place.

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Silly things, like candy canes

And silky dreams on clouds of

Peppermint sticks and lemonade

With real mashed potatoes on my plate

At Phil’s house.

Ice cube fights and Christmas trees

Baby Jesus and the snowmen

We watch the crooks get busted

And ghosts haunt

Phil’s house.

French fries and porkchops

Cups of water on cold nights

Running around in pajamas

And the moon shines

At Phil’s house.

Late at night, at the mirror

Early the next day with soap in my hair

And a van ride to church

When the snow’s on the ground

At Phil’s house.

Sister in my soul

This how I’ll remember you

The way you laugh and giggle

As we talk about church and God

And boys and dreams and family

School and being a girl

In a world full of men

As we lay on air

Under the cow hide

At Phil’s house.