A letter to a dear friend...

Dear James,

I know you saw it in the paper. Even though you don't live here anymore, I know you get the Sentiel/Journal. And I know you saw the obit. I wish could have spoken to you, however briefly, during the service. But there were so many people there, the relatives, that I once depended on my mom knowing, but then I had to know myself; co-workers; aunts, uncles, and the like; friend's mothers; people from church, the grade school teachers, like Mrs. Davis, talking about how much they loved the letters that my mom would write to excuse our absences...it was all daunting. And now you're back, and I didn't even get to visit. Ron commented on how current boy did not sit with me, and he was ready to kick current boy's ass...and I had to tell him that it was MY choice. I am glad, in a way, that I did not marry him. In some ways, as you know, I wait for that one person. You know, the one I've seen in dreams. Maybe I'm being girlish (oh, how dare I!), or melodramatic, but I have that weird unshakable feeling.

Like I did with my mom. I was the only one who knew, and I told her. I feel bad, and at the same time, I feel release. I told her everything I needed to, when she was alive and coherent. That helped.

"Gravedigger, dig me a shallow grave, so that I can feel the rain"

I don't know what's going to happen now. I'm scared but thrilled. And if no one wants to go on the ride with me, I'm not afraid to go all by myself.

I am not afraid of lonliness. The lonliness which drives all of us.

I am not afriad of the tape. Even though it makes me cry. And she wondered if Liz ever loved her. Do you know (and I think you do) how much restraint it took on my part not to SLAP her?

I am the past. I am the future.

Love,
The Spoiled Brat