Sisterchicks on the Loose by Robin Jones Gunn

remember what it was like when our kids were that small? We could never do anything without a little koala bear hanging on us.”
    “It seems so long ago. I don’t remember things as well as I used to. I think I burned up too many brain cells during my wild years.” Penny tilted her head. “Speaking of wild years, did you really think I was going to let that taxi driver take us to the disco?”
    “I couldn’t tell by the way you were flirting with him.”
    “Flirting with him! I wasn’t flirting!”
    “Then what was that?”
    “That was public relations. That’s what I do.”
    “And with the hotel manager? And the kitchen chef? Is that public relations, too?”
    “Yes, public relations with a dash of schmoozing. Perfect recipe for success, don’t you think?”
    I didn’t respond.
    Penny put her hand on her hip. “What? Do you think I did something wrong?”
    “I don’t know. I’m not used to being around you when you’re schmoozing.”
    “This is how I operate in the business world. I don’t lie. I just creatively direct the situations to get the desired results.”
    I folded my arms across the front of my cozy robe.
    “What?”
    “It could be considered manipulation, Penny. You know how to get what you want. You always have.”
    “And is that a bad thing?” Penny asked. “I mean, tell me if you think I have an integrity problem.”
    “No, I’m not accusing you of having an integrity problem.”
    “Then what am I doing that’s wrong?”
    I thought about how Penny’s “public relations” techniques weren’t dishonest or cruel. She opened herself up and gave freely to others. I think she expected others to respond with equal generosity.
    “I don’t know,” I said after a pause.
    “Well, you think about it while I take a shower. You, more than any other woman, know me by heart, Sharon. If you see anything out of line, I want to hear about it.”
    Penny always had been open and teachable. But I couldn’t remember a time that I ever asked anyone to evaluate my actions or point out any undesirable qualities in my life.
    I thought back on when our friendship was young and Penny asked me to help her practice what she was going to say at her baptism. Our church was more accustomed to baptizing children than adults. I think Penny realized that she and Dave were an anomaly and she didn’t want to shock any of the old ladies with what she called her “spicy testimony.” I stopped Penny before she could read me the four pages she had written out. I told her I didn’t want to know all that stuff from her past. I suggested she limit herself to three or four sentences and focus on making it clear that she was now an obedient follower of Christ.
    I think that was the worst thing I ever did to her.
    At her baptism, Penny stepped into the water, working hard to keep her expression flat even though I knew she was ecstatic. All eyes were on her. All ears were listening. Calmly reciting a few generic phrases of Christianese, Penny plugged her nose and went under. Up she came, glistening and spilling laughter from her merry heart with her arms in the air. She was so full of life.
    I knew then that I had robbed her and those in attendance of experiencing the real passion for God that was exploding in Penny’s life. I had censored her. I diluted her spirit in an effort to make her more like my type of Christian so she would be acceptable to people like Gloria.
    I told myself I’d never do that again. I’d never try to change Penny. She was a zealous woman, true. But she was also humble and teachable.
    Unwrapping the towel from my head, I leaned back, shaking the water from the ends of my clean hair.
Why do I still feel it’s my job to correct her and corral her, even when I made myself promise that I wouldn’t do that?
    Hoping to find a brush, I reached for my shoulder bag and dumped the contents on my bed. My belongings formed a small mound. I looked over at the mounds on Penny’s bed and back at my