by Freida Marie Crump
Greetings from the Ridge.
Jenny sat with me on my front porch at the nub end of last week’s only cool evening. She’s a neighbor girl suffering through the most anxious year of a teenager’s life. Jenny is fifteen.
"Freida, how come you can’t drive until you’re sixteen?"
Aside from being bright and a bit precocious, Jenny remembers everything you tell her and for some reason