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  • Old Friend, Young

    This was before gravity had even stopped to wink at us, and it’s not me that snapped the picture, or took it to be developed. You remember developing? The picture is from when almost all of the people we knew were living, but after the night we spent awake in the rain in Tokyo, no place to go but a doorstep where we tried not to alarm the apartment occupants with late laughter. Inappropriate American girls, but just talking on a different island, really.

    It’s not easy to understand where she was this day, or where I might have been, but it’s not unusual for her to be the recognizable form in my picture, right? Turns out to be the opposite of romantic, how the heart takes haven, the other person become a place to rest, even when rest arrives as its clichéd fitful self.

    She’s so beautiful, is she not? It’s probably a good year after that time in Reno. College is finished for us, children not yet begun. What’s up with the dirty beach? The next sentence should be about love. The picture was taken sometime when we didn’t even enjoy coffee yet, as if this time existed in the probable span of a life.

    This is well before the night before I got married (turns out still happily, completely right, many years have passed). That was the evening she told John it was OK if he married me so long as he understood that if he ever did the slightest thing to hurt me, she would run him over with a steamroller and he could count on it. Are we clear on this point?
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