“You can’t throw that away!” she said to me, wiping her tears.
I had, just the day before, finished reading through a journal from when I was 18. It had taken me a long time because — 18 again? No thanks — but finally I’d seen it all and decided what, if anything, was worth keeping. The binder containing the rest of the lined looseleaf covered with ink was slipped into a big black plastic bag destined for the fire bowl I’m about to light up any day now.
My high school friend Bev came over and we sipped herbal tea, talked, ate Mary Psovsky’s perogies for supper, talked, drank wine, and talked. In the course of the day I remembered something in the journal about a situation with a mutual friend, and retrieved the binder for Bev’s entertainment.
I flipped through and read several passages aloud.
We laughed so hard, we cried.
It was high drama, man!
|"So ... are you going to leave your Christmas balls up all summer?"|