Late-night conversation with an equal adversary.

Thanks for calling, but I'm not saving your number. I have a bad habit of embarrassing myself via telephone when I'm lonely and the books aren't enough.

How about we call it a friendship and I forgive you for anything you might say? Stop being ridiculous.

Wish I could, but I know myself too well. Appreciate the attempt at self control if nothing else. Remember why I had to leave the last one. You're the opposite. Do the math.

Oh, David.

Please don't call me that, I only let one person call me by my full name.

Take care, I'll see you around.

No you won't. Running into you at the store the other day was a fluke.

A fluke is a fluke only if you let it be, and otherwise it's a whale. So stick that in your smoke and pipe it.

I've learned that not letting things be only leads to over-analyzation and/or forcing what should come freely. Have you ever been told you're too smart for your own good?

No, but I've told myself that being smart hardly matters and that the good and kindness do.

Tell that to the good and the kind, ask them where it's gotten them. They may persuade you otherwise.

I don't think they would, if they're smart.

You've got me there, though not really. Don't worry, I only go for cynics.

I'm not worried, I knew that already. I would only frustrate you in being peaceful and laughing at some things that you might think are very serious.

You assume too much then. I also see your silver lining. I just don't laugh at the size of the cloud.

I'm only teasing, David.

I asked you not to call me that.

Fine, I'm going to call you Esther.

A name like Job would be more fitting. God revoked his family, his health, and his love just for the hell of it and called it a test.

I don't know...

Or Jacob. He too once fought an Angel, though I forget who won in his case.

That's not very nice of him.

She started it. She usually does...


. . . . .


I woke up three hours later with the phone still in my hand. I'd never fallen asleep mid-sentence before. It was as peaceful as they'd claimed, like the sound of snow hitting branches on a quiet December morning. You never forget your first.

Or your last.

Or any of the ones in between.







Currently reading:
"Winesburg, Ohio" by Sherwood Anderson.