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  • Recent correspondence:

    “Today is my 64th birthday. Will you still in the Beatles song?”

    “I certainly need you, and if you ever swing by, I will definitely feed you. It’s been a long time. How goes it?”

    “Better now. Had a brush with breast cancer and reconstructive surgery.”

    “Dear God!”

    “I was thinking today about my 21st birthday. They landed on the moon that night. I watched it in a bar downtown.”

    Was that all she remembered of that day? Had she forgotten how I drove 14 hours because she didn’t want to spend her birthday alone? She had recently broken up with a friend of mine. In the midst of a sophomoric discussion on the slings and arrows, we exchanged a tentative kiss, then a lingering one, followed by professions of long-bottled, unspoken love. We grew more passionate. I kissed her breast (was it the same one that would turn on her later?). And then I called a halt. Guilt and confusion fought to a draw. She offered to talk the situation over with my friend. I decided to drive to Philadelphia and see my family. She went out with a few drinking buddies to celebrate her birth and America’s date with destiny.

    Funny how a moment that is clutched close by one mind can be casually discarded by another. Then again, how can the small, stumbling steps of a man be measured against a giant leap for mankind?

    (No reposting, please)

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