Almost every gay(ish) woman has a Kim Kelly in her past. You met in adolescence; probably in middle or high school, possibly in college but certainly no later. Your lives were deeply and intimately intertwined — although you may or may not have had an overtly romantic relationship, everyone who knew the two of you knew that for good or for ill that you were one another’s top priorities. Your Kim almost certainly smoked cigarettes and you almost certainly did not. You knew everything about her and you hated her boyfriend and you arranged your class schedules together and you drew on one another’s wrists in ballpoint pen and sometimes you couldn’t stand the sight of her. Your Kim was mouthy and wore dirty jackets and you were the only person she’d be gentle for.