I Had a Friend I had a friend, Simon. He was big, almost bearlike, on the clumsy side with dark hair that flopped over his forehead. He was good looking but thought himself ugly. Something had damaged him already in his mid-twenties. We worked together against the Vietnam War, against the draft, against imperial ambitions, against racism. We made a good team. We had both tried to work with other people but found ourselves undervalued, run over, our ideas never really considered—me because of being a woman and Simon because he was not an alpha male. We listened to each other. We wrote with me at the typewriter and him pacing behind me. It was a relationship of equals, comfortable for both. We went to demonstrations together and I felt a little protected with his powerful body beside me. I am still proud of what we did together. But in those days, I had multiple emotional and sexual relationships. Sex came easily to me and I enjoyed it. My affections were readily engaged without being possessive.
