33 of 210 : Nenah

She tried so patiently to tell me why calling herself “Nenah Sylver” instead of “Nina Silver” would bring her more prosperity because of its numerological vibration, but her explanation just wouldn't sink in. Maybe the concept was too complex for me. Or maybe it was because I couldn’t stop giggling.

32 of 210 : Les

At age 11, whenever she’d drop something or bump into a wall, she’d say, “Whoops, my brain tumor’s acting up!” Her friends would always laugh. By the time she was 18 she had new friends who weren’t in on the joke. She loved the way they’d blanch and fall silent.

31 of 210 : Mo

In a newsgroup I posted some gossip about a favorite actress. Out of the blue she emails me, and after several rounds of “No, who are you, really?”, we become regular correspondents. Now whenever she’s on TV, I say, “There’s my friend!” And for a brief time, she probably was.

30 of 210 : Asha

Asha’s husband died Monday. A stroke victim, he existed in that shadow-world between functionality and invalidism; sometimes he knew both at once. We never met him, but guessed he was older than she. Was there just the tiniest trace of relief in her voice as she told us the news?

29 of 210 : Barry (Not His Real Name)

He was a loner who joked frequently about suicide. I got worried during one depressive episode and told a college dean, and the resulting bruhaha embarrassed and angered him greatly. Later I heard he was on SSRIs and much happier, so perhaps it wasn’t a total gaffe on my part.

28 of 210 : Jim

What do you say about someone you’ve known since you were three years old? He was my first friend, and still one of my best; and he always surprises me—with his totally unwarranted shyness, his artistic creativity, his wicked sense of humor. I’ll always be a kid around him.

27 of 210 : Victoria

She’s a good shrink, despite her belief that psychotherapy is a hard science, akin to physics or chemistry. While I see her point that “soft science” sounds pejorative, I view psychoanalysis as more of an art: gifted therapists are shamans in white lab coats, while bad ones are drunken brain surgeons.

26 of 210 : Adrian

My mother’s physical therapist was a tall, bald Brit who was also a professional actor. He was enormously engaging, and a damn good PT as well. He was not, however, a very good actor, at least as Ebenezer Scrooge. His performance gave new meaning to the phrase “long for death.”

25 of 210 : Mrs. Oosterhouse

My fourth grade teacher was a published author who wrote children’s books. We loved her stories of Perry the parakeet, who would magically miniaturize school children and fly them around on his back, having wonderful adventures. To her I first whispered my secret desire: “I want to become a writer.”

24 of 210 : Miss Miller

A classic spinster, to our young eyes she seemed ancient and withered. She ate bananas with knife and fork because the normal way was too suggestive, and at the museum she shielded us from the shame of Michelangelo’s David by placing her hand where a fig leaf should have gone.

23 of 210 : Cate

My cousin’s girlfriend for a few years, Cate wasn’t a member of our family nearly long enough. She had a lovely, sunny disposition that seemed to fit right in with our familial craziness, so I can’t imagine why their relationship broke up. I still miss her laugh, and her acceptance.

22 of 210 : Tracey

Before a single hour of conversation had passed, I knew her like my own soul. It’s the eeriest sensation, this level of utter comfort and connection. Past lives? Entirely possible. Though it feels more like we were the same self once upon a time, now residing in two different bodies.

21 of 210 : Mark

His sister had a crush on me; I had a crush on him. Happily, I won. It all started on The Infamous Camping Trip. There was steak (which we ate with our bare hands), a 1967 Bordeaux, and some shamefully delicious fumbling inside our tent. Oh, to be 13 again!

20 of 210 : Chuck

I’d sneak out at 2 in the morning and meet Chuck and Mark at a neighbor’s vacant house. We’d climb onto the roof and sit there for hours talking about sex, spirituality, life. The moonlit shadows shifting on the field below never failed to scare the bejesus out of us.

19 of 210 : Jeffrey

A timid childhood acquaintance, both disturbing and disturbed. Something would trigger him while we were playing, and he’d say, “I wanna flush my clothes down the toilet!” Or he’d pull down his pants and roll on his back in a frenzy, begging us to sprinkle baby powder on his crotch.

18 of 210 : Art

I wish there were a better word to describe him, but “pusillanimous” will have to do. The founder and president of the non-profit at which I worked, and an overtly kind man, he was a milquetoast who hid his surprisingly rigid religious beliefs behind a wall of unjust personnel policies.

17 of 210 : Lois and Caroline

Lois and Caroline were the first lesbians I ever knew. Family friends and business clients of my father, I even worked in their boarding kennel for a few years. They’d been “married” for decades, but their breakup was so painful that now neither can bear to speak the other’s name.

16 of 210 : Alex

I fall in love way too easily. Alex was cute, a close friend, and probably bi, but at 17 when I blurted out my love-that-was- not-like-the- love-you-have- for-a-friend- but-something- significantly-more, he was flattered but so not interested. I can’t tell if that’s what ruined the friendship, or his moving 1150 miles away two months later.

15 of 210 : Tom

The schizophrenic brother of a college chum, Tom spent much of his life in mental hospitals. I spent Thanksgiving with him and his family, and discovered that we shared an understanding of the dark landscape of the psyche, a love of seriously warped humor, and the disdain of his father.

14 of 210 : Aunt Peggy

My father’s sister had the voice of a foghorn. Those garish red toenails on her piggy little feet were a constant source of fascination for me. One day her malamute tried to rape me, and only a cattle prod, turned to the highest power, was finally able to dissuade him.

13 of 210 : Maria

An accomplished artist, daughter of a famed photographer, my high school rival in a class of twenty-five, salutatorian to my valedictorian, she demanded a painstaking recount of our grade point averages—how could I have bested her, she reasoned, when she had a straight 4.0? Extra credit, of course. Bitch.

12 of 210 : Mary Ellen

Mary El, as we called her, was Dale’s first wife. A good, churchgoing woman, she introduced me to the Narnia books (for which I am forever thankful). When their marriage broke up, Mary El spent a few years finding herself. She ended up finding a Caribbean god in tight pants.

11 of 210 : Nildale

Dale’s my brother, seventeen years my senior. He likes dreadful puns and endless discussions about the best route to take. Nilda is his second or third wife (no one’s sure), and thinks “Fantasmic!” at Disney-MGM Studios is high art. They are still giddily in love. Their licence plate reads NILDALE.

10 of 210 : Linda

For a few misbegotten years I was a real estate agent, and for a time she was my business partner. Not a good career choice for either of us. A gorgeous lesbian with auburn hair, she dreamed of opening a women-only roller rink. The ads would read, “Dyke-o-Rama—Everybody Skate!”

9 of 210 : Ernie

He died when he was eleven years older than I am now. A complex and often charming man, my father had a deep, unresolved anger toward God, which occasionally broke out against others—and himself. I think I learned the power of confidence from him, and the power of fear.

8 of 210 : Ron

My professor set a chair in the middle of the room, threw his imaginary manuscript onto its seat, and started shouting at it, “Why are you giving me a hard time?!”—his sure-fire way to break writer’s block. He became my mentor, but I don’t think he ever realized it.

7 of 210 : Katharine

The college switchboard is quiet until the call, and suddenly it’s That Voice. She asks for her friend in Administration. “I’m sorry, Miss Hepburn, but she’s at lunch just now,” I say, trembling nearly as badly as her voice did. “May I take a message?” “Just tell her . . . Katie called.”

6 of 210 : Chris

The towhead in my acupuncturist’s waiting room is restless, but his energy seems more intellectual than physical. “Our teachers won’t let us write fiction or poetry unless it’s part of an assignment,” he says. “I wonder if maybe they’re afraid of creative thought.” He’s nine, and his shoes light up.

5 of 210 : Dorothy

My grandmother’s breasts were so pendulous that she’d rest them on her shoulders to wash under them, my mother says. In her last years, my loving Nana thought that television announcers were talking directly to her, and feared that black men were waiting outside on the lawn to abduct her.

4 of 210 : Mary Lynn

Mary Lynn was sweet, spiritual, and slightly cross-eyed. She visited me the summer after college, and everyone expected us to announce our engagement. But she fell in love, or lust, with my best friend, which was just fine by me. The thought of our marriage bed gave me the willies.