dear friend

dear friend,

I am in a letter writing mood, and there are specific people I would like to write to.  For instance, for example, I’ve been thinking about an old professor I had.  My favorite professor.  I have been addressing all my thoughts to him lately.  My apologies for not writing sooner, I say.  How are Fitzgerald, Hemingway, all the friends we share?  I wonder.  I tell him about my grandma, my lola, who is not doing well.  I ask him about his wife, his writer-daughter, writer son-in-law.  How old are his grandkids, again?  I want to be a writer too, I remind him.  But none of that third person nonsense.  Only the almighty “I,” I think.  Am I right?  Am I right?  Hopefully he is nodding and nodding.

Last night the full moon howled.  Howled at itself for hours, it seemed.  We woke, this morning, feeling its effects.  A crooked shoulder.  Nebulous headaches.  Leaks.  Coughs.  Rips.  Spills.  Chills.  Bad luck for everyone…  At least, that is one  explanation.  What was the brief, redeeming moment of the day?  I finger my memory for silver linings.  I find lola.  The lines on her face seem to float in my teacup.  What a miracle.

I ask my professor if this is too much.  Is it too much, too vague, not enough?  Here or there, I think it is nice to love someone, I tell him.  It is nice to remember someone extra tenderly from time to time.  Because, what else are we here for but to love each other?  I wait for his response.

sincerely, e

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