Wednesday, August 11, 2010

I picture my long ago friend Erin living a sepia colored life at home with her children and her husband. To throw a filter over her I think of a mom a friend and someone full of emotion for and about the people she sees.


I remember her from college and recall she was like Saturday mornings -- carefree and open with her thoughts laughter smiles and generosity.


Trading mail back and forth we talked about friends we knew. Some turned out successful or adventurous with a spirit always a bit ahead of them like a sail slapping against a bold mast. Others of us married or never married or have children, have been divorced fallen in love crashed with a broken heart seen dreams come true right along with the disappointments and surprises. I guess you plant it then water it and see if it grows...


Yesterdays are just calendar pages, but cupped in our palms and whispered in our ears before sleep are the tomorrows. If we waste a day, tomorrow is waiting. If we use a day to its fullest and maybe somehow squeeze in extra, tomorrow is waiting.


With this in mind, I will whisper forgiveness to myself for being completely furious with Lily today for lunging at cars. It hurt my already sore back when she yanked me off balance and I tugged hard on her leash with the little nose guard attached. That makes me hate myself. It makes me want to curl around her and love her and make her understand I did not mean it. I want her to tell me it's OK.


I saw a picture of Erin with two of her children. They are flopped half on her lap and half on the couch, sprawled and asleep. She sits looking at them, wondering. Her cheeks curve with a mother's smile as she looks at her children.


I remember Erin sitting on her bed with mascara ready and an eyelash curler on the windowsill. With the morning light she makes up her face. I looked at her then, wondering how each of our lives would turn out and how much our everyday mindless college routines mattered. How would we step out the door after four years of school hangovers heads hung over a toilet bowl after a keg party fights with roommates about curling irons heart breaks as a boyfriend visits to say goodbye. Goodbye. How will we arrive in our futures? I had wondered. Now I realize this chance I have to peek back at myself.


I am forever attached to the things I did or said by a master craftsman's fine filament intertwining my days and folding my history in crisp pleats that ride around with me everywhere. By talking to my friend again I have reached into a secret fold of memory, shaken out this remnant from my past. I smooth it with my hands and refold it carefully, looking for the raw edge where intricate threads can connect more days.


In a few years I want to see me being much better to Lily. Screw my damn back for hurting. I should not have been angry with her.

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